The Once and Future Hero
by Lewascan2
Summary: Alone and filthy, Taylor Hebert died in her school locker. Then, she got a second chance, reborn as Artoria Pendragon, King Arthur hi-HERself! Unfortunately, she doesn't really change much, but you know what they say about that third time being the charm? Taylor Hebert, now the King of Knights, has returned to her own era, and she's not keen on repeating her mistakes thrice-over.
1. Return 1:1

**Disclaimer: Don't own Worm or anything from the Nasu-verse. This is a nonprofit work of fan-based parody, written for personal enjoyment and the perusal of the masses.**

 **AN: I've really wanted to see this concept done and have searched high and low across the internet to no avail. Thus, it appears to have fallen to me to make my idea a reality. One thing I feel is interesting is that by the Battle of Camlann (and excluding the Holy Grail War nonsense), fate/stay Artoria Pendragon has a lot in common with post-Worm Taylor.**

 **And that got me thinking...**

* * *

Return 1.1

Blood soaked the earth, dying it in muddy red, countless weapons stood as tall, grim tombstones, and broken, torn bodies littered the hills of Camlann as far as the eye could see, as the rank, putrid scent of rot and death billowed on the wind. And in the center of it all, beside the body of a crimson-clad traitor, a king collapsed to her knees and despaired.

Bleeding out, the girl, who had once been Taylor Hebert, only to find herself reborn in the past with a grand and grim destiny before her, leaned against Excalibur for bodily support and meager comfort. Regret and grief were her only companions now, as she stared out at the untold thousands of men, once comrades in arms, who had slaughtered each other without hesitation. Bile rose to the fore, but did not escape her throat; she had perpetrated far too many scenes of like description to be sick at the sight.

But the tears... For the first time in far too long, she allowed them to fall, allowed herself to again be the little girl with far too much responsibility thrust upon her shoulders.

She had failed.

Camelot had fallen to treachery and corruption.

And the worst part?

Some part of her had _known_ it would happen. A heavily suppressed part of her that she had violently rejected had _known_ it was coming, how it would all pan out, who she had to stop to prevent everything and see Britain flourish.

In another life, in another time, she had been a far different person, who had met with a disturbingly similar death.

She had been born a reincarnation of a girl, who had suffered dearly and died a sobbing coward, too stubborn to stand up for herself or ask for aid... And she had rejected those memories and that person with harsh, decisive confidence.

Who cared what knowledge there was to be learned. Who cared about the future, so long as she didn't have anything to do with that past self of hers, who would hinder her duties as King.

That was what she had thought.

Annette Hebert, her first mother, had been an English and literary buff, and her daughter had inherited that part of her. She had known the legends, she had been aware of her hidden enemies from the start. With her memories in full, she could have prevented all of this needless death and destruction.

But she didn't.

And why?

Because she was afraid of irrevocably changing the future? Because she was so afraid of even the vague possibility becoming someone she didn't like, a person she considered a complete hinderance?

She had gotten enough of her old memories, before she locked them away, to know that she had been reborn as an important figure, a legend, a hero, who would be famous over a thousand years later. She had glimpsed tales of the Round Table, Camelot, and great hosts of knights swearing fealty to a perfect king. She had seen before her a grand destiny in which she would unite and liberate Britain. She would be hero above heroes, a legend of worldwide renown, but... there was minor hiccup. She had looked upon the pathetic, beaten, and cowed wreck of a girl in the scraps of her past memories and said with finality, " _No._ " She could _not_ - _would_ not- allow that person to interfere with the fate of her country, with King Arthur's skill as a ruler. She could not allow that aspect of her to influence her reign under any circumstances.

She had rejected all that _would be_ in favor of focusing on the _now_. She had rejected the knowledge of the future as useless to the people and herself, _harmful_ even. After all, were she to be a poor king, her country would suffer, no matter how many advancements she introduced. Britain didn't have time for worrying about the future, when the wars with invaders, rebels, and bandits were happening now!

Only now, bleeding out among a field of corpses, had she allowed herself to truly remember in full just who she had been and what she had known, and, _oh_ , how _very wrong_ she had been to remain so willfully ignorant. How foolish and utterly selfish she was to reject knowledge in favor of her pride in who she had been reborn as.

She was from the _future_! She had knowledge literally _centuries_ ahead of her time on agriculture, politics, warfare, basic human rights, and technology! She could have revolutionized everything! She could have changed the future of the world, prepared humanity for Parahumans and the Endbringers so far in advance it wasn't even funny! She could have saved Hero, stopped Behemoth at the start, warned everyone of the Simurgh's schemes, and if she'd prevented the theft of Avalon, she would have not aged a day throughout it, nor would she be dying right now, resigned to the fate of the legend she'd foolishly refused to tarnish the reputation of by acting in any way different!

What arrogance. To think she could be a worthy replacement for the actual Arthur, to think that she could do just as well.

Merlin was gone to parts unknown, likely trapped by Morgan.

The Knights of the Round Table were broken and scattered.

And here she lay, wallowing in her failure, like the coward she'd been in the face of Emma's betrayal.

What kind of king was she?

A fake, a mistake, a foolish child with dreams of glory.

She had tried to be someone she wasn't and failed miserably.

She was not King Arthur. She was Taylor; she was Artoria; she was a lie from the start, a woman under the guise of the perfect, male heir to Uther Pendragon, and a false promise of peace and prosperity to a suffering nation in need of a savior. Who the hell was she trying to kid?

Regardless of the risk to the timeline, regardless of the consequences, the real Arthur would _never_ have allowed this tragedy to occur if he had possessed the knowledge of the future she had. He would never have stood by, knowing the further suffering in store for his people in the wake of his death.

She could try and tell herself it was better this way. She could tell herself that the future was best left the way it was, but... that would all be a lie, wouldn't it?

Humanity's future was already bleak as it was. Villains outnumbered heroes over two to one, Endbringers drove society toward an inevitable collapse less than a century away, and their only hope was a glowing, golden idiot, who had likely been responsible for powers and the suffering caused by them in the first place. _That_ , at least, was something obvious to her given time to think about now it in combination with the Dark Ages' harsh removal of her rose-tinted vision of the world.

She nearly choked on the bitter laugh that escaped her throat. How selfish could she possibly be? The chance to save the world, and she had disregarded it entirely, wasted it pathetically, all for the chance to be the hero, to be loved as she never had before. What were childish desires weighed against the fate of the world?

 _Nothing._

They were worth less than nothing. She had known that from the start and chosen to be selfish anyway, to seek fame, glory, and the adulation of the masses, as she rode to their rescue with a cadaver of loyal allies beside her, rejecting knowledge of the future utterly in order to enjoy living in the present. All this she did, even as she sacrificed entire villages for the sake of the kingdom, stripping them of resources to fuel her army. Countless innocent lives were sacrificed in her campaign, and only now did she allow herself to look back upon them with regret. How could she look herself in the mirror and honestly call herself a hero?

At the very least, Merlin could be said to have spoken the entire truth back then.

To be a king was to give up one's humanity, to sacrifice everything.

To be a king, was to be a monster, and she had become that.

But she had never been the king she should have been.

She had never been a hero, and she never would be.

All she had been was the cold, logical monster.

Pathetic.

The friendless, ostracized, and betrayed girl, who succumbed to a dark, desecrated locker, would die once more, alone, crying, betrayed, and surrounded by rot and filth.

Thick, salty tears stung her with shame, as they streaked down her cheeks. Every opportunity had been wasted on the fool that she was. She could have halted Morgan's schemes. She could have prevented Guinivere's affair with Lancelot from being made public and thus being forced to go through with the execution that would lose her an entire three Knights of the Round Table. She could have accepted the -also strangely female- Mordred as her heir and loved her as the child craving parental love that she was, usurping her loyalty from Morgan and preventing the uprising. She could have given up the search for the Holy Grail in far-off lands as the wild goose chase it was and worked harder to solidify her kingdom's integrity at home.

Darkness crept at the sides of her vision. Such was her grief and blood-loss, she barely acknowledged Sir Bedivere's arrival, was barely aware of being carried and her fatal wound dressed and treated to no avail. As her body finally gave out, she suddenly realized bitterly that, for all the trouble she had gone to in order to resist changing things unnecessarily, she had not sent Bedivere to return Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake. In allowing herself one final breakdown, she had likely made every last bit of sacrifice pointless. For possession of such a weapon could be enough to change to world in anyone's hands... for good or ill.

 _Guinevere... Kay... Lancelot... Bedivere... even you, Merlin, you old pervert, I'm so sorry..._

One final failure for an utter failure of a king and wannabe hero.

Really, she decided, almost anyone could have done better.

She barely resisted wishing aloud that someone had.

Thus it was that King Arthur's legend came to a close...

...or, at least, it should have.

* * *

The darkness was all-consuming, pressing down against her like physical force. The smell of rot and filth pervaded her being and offended her core, and dried tears had left crusty streaks on her cheeks. It had been a change of pace both sudden and startling.

She shifted uncomfortably. Was this Hell? Was she being punished for her crimes, for abandoning Humanity so thoroughly in its time of need? She shif-

The scraping of her vambraces on metal cut off that thought.

In an instant, she reassessed her situation, as adrenaline began to pump through her veins. How had she been imprisoned this way? How was she even _alive_?! Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, as she stood stock still, examining what she could from her confinement.

Quickly, she noticed it wasn't just the smell of the rot surrounding her in this metal... box that tickled unpleasantly at her nose. There was something else, something that pervaded further, older and more omnipresent, almost like smoke but far more unhealthy. She struggled with long unused terms in her head, trying to put label to the... fumes.

It struck her like a lightning bolt after a long moment of contemplation. Exhaust. Fossil fuels. Those... Those were modern concepts, many centuries beyond the time of King Arthur, _her_ time now, and the Dark Ages.

Sounds were beginning to reach her now. Horns from horseless transportation that she had once known well sounded in the distance, and her senses, which she was beginning to note were rather unnaturally sharp right now, even for her, caught the sound of water flowing through pipes somewhere before and above her.

 _Where-?_

Where was she?

What the hell? She should have died! That should have been the end of it!

There... were no such things as exhaust, water pipes, and... and... those horseless things, which currently escaped her to label, in her age!

So, there could only be one place that she could possibly be. Emerald eyes widened in the darkness, and she sharply twisted her body with rough, backwards shove.

Being that she was trapped in a metal box, she had, even with her body enhanced by dragon blood and magic, expected to be in for a bit of trouble escaping her current confines.

So, it was with more than a little surprise that she practically blasted out with a harsh shriek and snap of tearing metal. The filth flowed outward with her onto grey, cracked tile and almost caused her to slip into the rotting, infested muck.

She full-body flinched, as the door of her former confines clattered and rattled with no subtlety whatsoever across the floor whilst bent nearly in half to smack against the wall with a further bang. Shaking her head after a moment of cringing pause, she glanced around at the empty hallway with a frown. The pervading presence of fresher air, though welcome, only served to highlight for her the true stench of the filth she had been trapped with, curling her lip in utter disgust. She was from the Medieval Dark Ages, but _even then_ she still had standards for cleanliness.

The light was almost unwelcome, as it revealed the sight of scattered, formerly white pads, blackened and browned by what her mind told her was dried blood. These pads she felt instinctively insulted by featured prominently among other miscellaneous garbage and a plethora of cockroaches and maggots. And it was all spilling out of a single school locker...

Taylor snarled and turned away from the sight, glancing about once more, as she brushed what filth she could off her garb. Her boots scraped against the tile, as she shifted, and she raised an armor-clad hand, clenching it tightly. Locks with a golden luster swayed at the edge of her vision, as she examined her equipment, and she could feel how her long, braided hair protested not uncomfortably from it's confines in a tight, practical bun atop the back of her head.

It appeared that she had arrived in possession of her armor in whole as well as her second body, hearty, healthy, and distinctly lacking a mortal wound, but she was also frighteningly unarmed. And also...

Her left eye twitched.

Her chest was rather conspicuously missing the bindings she usually wore to conceal its mild protrusion. A second later, she lightly admonished herself for finding _that_ to be one of the most bothersome things about this situation.

Her hands clenched into fists, drawing squeaking protests from scraping, enchanted steel.

It was all too apparent that she had been returned to the Modern Era, upon her death as King Arthur, for reasons she could not begin to fathom. Not only that, but...

She glanced at the ruins of her locker.

Without proper leverage, even taking her inhuman strength into account, it should not have been so easy to break out. She had dragon-blood, yes. She had magic and could brute-force her way through a fight with Mana Burst if need be, yes also. However, she had _additionally_ always had a good holy sword in hand to aid her _and_ had tended to put a bit more reliance on her weaponry than might be wise. She had been beyond human, able to slay hundreds alone and unaided, but...

She had not been this strong.

She clenched her fists again. Something was different now that she was deliberately looking for it. It wasn't _just_ that she was stronger; she could actually _feel_ that she was stronger. Her slight body of a bare centimeter short of five feet felt like condensed _power_ given physical form. The magical core in her chest pulsed and flared with some sort of extra kick to it.

She took a deep breath, extended her meager magical senses and sighed out, exhaling an invisible cloud of prana, like the dragon in human form that she was, producing, herself, such an excess of magic that she could actually emit the extra in her breath.

She shook her head. _Focus thine attentions, Artoria, beside a busted locker in an empty hallway is hardly the proper place for investigating these internal matters._

With that, Taylor Hebert, Arturia Pendragon, former ruler of Britain, and King of Knights nodded her head, turned on her armored heel, and _moved_.

She was almost startled by the sheer speed with which she rushed through the facility with a small explosion of displaced air in her wake, having to abruptly slow herself so as not to further damage the tile beneath her feet from simply running, as she located and ascended the stairs to the roof in mere moments. The padlock on the door at the top provided absolutely no resistance, as she tore it off with frighteningly casual ease and proceeded forward. The door creaked in loud protest on rusted hinges that had fallen into obvious disrepair, much like the rest of facility.

Clicking her tongue in dissatisfaction and worry that the noise had been heard (if her escape from the Locker had also not been by some miracle), she stepped out onto the rooftop and found it to be mercifully deserted, allowing the door to swing closed behind her with another low creak.

Outside, the noises and smells of the city were far more prominent. She could hear the blaring of car horns and the sirens of ambulances and fire trucks ringing out through the air. The wind carried the scent of industry in the form of gasoline and exhaust with tantalizing hints of spices and sizzling, modern food wafting from restaurants in a low undertone; for someone who had lived the past several decades of her life in a time devoid of showers or even _plumbing_ it was rather pleasant by comparison, save for the sharp tang of pollution. In the distance, tall buildings with gleaming, glass windows dominated the skyline, and in the bay...

Artoria's lips pursed tightly. For the life of her, she could not recall if it had a particular name beyond being called "The Rig", but the repurposed oil rig out in the bay she knew was home to the local parahuman law enforcement. A large, flickering, translucent dome, the obvious work of the vaunted Tinkers, curled around the structure, shielding it from all conventional (and often unconventional) ranged assault, and, even from her position, she could glimpse aircraft making use of its open dock.

Parahumans...

She really was home, wasn't she? Everything was as it had always been without her. She had made no difference in the past at all, except to perpetuate the mistakes of her namesake. What the hell was the point of studying history if not to learn from it? And she had learned _nothing_.

She sucked in a breath and released it shakily, shaking her head. This was _not_ the time for self-flagellating. Three decades absent from the Modern Era she might have been -and a failure of a king besides, but she knew a pity party would do nothing for her at this juncture. Because she, King Artoria Pendragon, had returned to the world of the living once more... whether she liked it or not.

Blinking, she chuckled humorlessly.

Wasn't that what it had always said in Arthurian legend? Wasn't it said that Arthur would one day return from his rest in Avalon to rule once more in his home's time of need? Well, it was _something_ along those lines anyway; it's not like she could have read stories about herself before they even existed during her reign. She hadn't even gotten the chance to see Avalon, beyond glimpses when using the sheath with the same name. And besides...

She had no intention of taking up the mantle of King again... If people wanted to be led, then they could do far better than a failure like her. She'd tried being King, but she'd been proven all too human for the job, all too selfish to just do what needed to be done to secure the future for Humanity.

She exhaled explosively and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment in aggravation, rubbing them slowly with steel-clad fingers. _No! No more of this nonsensical depression!_ She needed to get her feet back under her and take control of her situation again! She may have failed her brother, her best friend, her knights, and her people, but _here and now_ in _this_ time, she still had someone to care for.

She had a father, who loved her, even if he wasn't very good at taking care of her, between his job and mild depression. In the end, the important thing was that he _tried_. He tried, and, even if he failed, that was more than she had ever done.

The part of her that was Artoria was shamed by the part that was Taylor, offended by the girl, who had let herself be driven so far into the dirt with barely token protest. But... _she_ , Artoria, had _wasted_ the chance to be _just_ Artoria. Now, she _couldn't_ stop being the other part of her whole any longer, and all that she had left in this world belonged to the part that was Taylor.

Tears prickled at the edge of her vision, and the King of Knights, felt yet again like the little girl she hadn't been allowed to be in decades, who'd never had a real childhood, between the bulling before her death and the frantic, obsessive preparation to take up the throne in her new life from far too young an age.

She aggressively wiped the wetness from her eyes with the flaring, royal-blue fabric adorning her upper arms.

 _I... I want my dad..._

She stood straight-backed and as tall as her just nigh five-feet of height would allow near the roof's edge. A steely expression overtook her visage, as she looked to the horizon. The King of Knights nodded resolutely to herself and took a step forth, before abruptly halting, golden brows furrowed, as she examined the sprawling, bayside city once more with a quizzical gaze. Her right brow twitched briefly in irritation.

 _I do wonder, where perhaps didst my prior abode reside?_

* * *

 **AN: Aaannnd, that looks to be a good place to stop.**  
 **Now, before anyone says anything, Taylor's return to the modern world and the reasons she was reincarnated as Artoria are getting hand-waved for now, unless I can think of a good reason that will add to the story productively. Mostly, I just really don't want the Holy Grail to be included in this story AT ALL. It's too much trouble, and I'm not in the mood for a magecraft and/or Holy Grail War sub-plot. This also means that, even with several Servant-like abilities and boosts, she has to learn how to use them on her own, lacking instructions from the Grail. At this point, I'm going to chock everything up to being a bored Zelretch ("Hey, it's not always my fault!") and go from there. Or maybe, some Earth-Bet Alaya machinations might be going on... Things to think about.**

 **Other than that, the only magic around here on Earth Bet will be what Taylor has.**

 **The reason I have Taylor have Avalon is that the only reason Saber didn't get summoned with the sheath in her possession was due to something having to do with her deal with Alaya. Since Taylor never made that deal, Avalon is returned to her possession in her Servant-like resurrection.**

 **In regards to her return, she's been away from the modern era for more than twenty five years at least! She's going to have a bit of trouble remembering some stuff about modern devices, locations, and culture, but it shouldn't take too long for our Queen of Escalation to get back into the swing of things.**

 **As far as Artoria!Taylor gaining more power than she had in life, it's because her body functions as a Heroic Spirit now to a degree (because reasons). In that way, her power is rather memetic in that, like a Servant, the greater her legend grows, the more powerful she becomes. In other words, the more people she inspires to believe in her power the more powerful she will get as time goes on. Of course, it will be an _extremely_ slow increase, unless she does something truly ridiculous that gets her fame and adulation worldwide... I'm sure you all have quite a few ideas about what she'd have to do for that. ;)**

Class: Saber (Trump 10, Brute 9, Thinker 8, Mover 7, Master 6, Striker 5, Blaster 10+, Shaker 12)

Name: Taylor "Artoria (King Arthur) Pendragon" Hebert

Master: None

Alignment: Lawful Good

Strength: A (Brute 8)  
Endurance: B (Brute 7)  
Agility: B (Mover 7)  
Mana: A  
Luck: A+ (Shaker 8)  
N. Phantasm: A++

Class Skills:

Magic Resistance A: (Trump 10)  
Cancel spells of _A-Rank_ or below, no matter what _High-Thaumaturgy_ it is. In practice, the Servant is untouchable to modern magi, so it would not be an exaggeration to title the Servant a ' _Magus Killer_ '.  
As her ' _Pendragon_ ' name shows, King Arthur is the holder of the Element of the Red Dragon, charged with the task of protecting the kingdom. She carries the very magical power of the Dragon. This humongous magical power is also the source of King Arthur's Magic Resistance. Due to the characteristics of a Dragon, King Arthur has much trouble with existences such as Seigfried, who is associated with tales of ' _Dragon extermination_ '. If she is targeted by ' _Dragon-slaying Sorceries_ ', it is possible that Magic Resistance will not function to its fullest extent.

Riding B: (Thinker/Master/Striker 4)  
Most vehicles and animals can be handled with above average skill, even vehicles that did not exist in the time period one was alive in for they are no exception. However, cannot ride the likes of Phantasmal Species such as _Monstrous Beasts_.  
Since ' _knights_ ' are soldiers who are proficient in mounted warfare, Saber's Rank in Riding is very high. Chariots can be ridden the same way. Motorcycles and automobiles are treated as ' _modern mounts_ ', thus a high rank in Riding is also applicable. However, King Arthur can ultimately only control normal mounts. This is due to her Class not being Rider, as well as the fact that she was a King in the Age of Man, thus did not have the fortune of having " _Legends of Riding Phantasmal Species_ ".

Personal Skills:

Charisma B: (Master 6)  
Having _B Rank_ in this Skill is sufficient to lead a nation as its King/Queen. The morale of military forces he or she commands is extremely high.

Instinct A: (Thinker 8)  
At _Rank A_ , it is essentially in the realm of predicting the future. Through this ability, it is possible to negate the penalties inflicted by visual and auditory interference to a certain extent.

Mana Burst A: (Trump 7) (Striker/Shaker 5)  
At _Rank A_ , even a stick can become a weapon of great power. A normal weapon that is not on the level of a divine Mystery can be destroyed in one blow. Can also raise her defense several times over. King Arthur uses this Skill mainly for defense and high-speed movement. Executing large-scale body reinforcement through _Mana Burst_ is only possible with King Arthur's immense magical power. While she herself possesses average physical strength, she managed to defeat countless enemies by strengthening all of her actions with her excessive magical energy. Additional plus modifier added to Strength, Endurance, and Agility while in use.

Noble Phantasms:

Avalon (Barrier) EX: (Shaker 12) (Brute 9)  
A Divine sword sheath, created by the fairies, it bequeaths limited immortality through constant regeneration, as well as preventing physical deterioration caused by aging. The holder of the scabbard is granted potent healing, allowing for critical and fatal wounds to be rapidly repaired to restore the wielder's health. Minor injuries are restored easily, and even large missing portions of the body and destroyed vital organs like the heart can quickly be restored at the critical moment before death. Targeting anything other than the holder's head in order to destroy their brain is futile, requiring for a decisive strike to be landed in order to cause any true damage.  
Its function as a Noble Phantasm is an "absolute defense" that completely shields its user in the domain of the fairies, Avalon, the unreachable utopia that King Arthur dreamed of and was said to have gone to after her death. It is the greatest protection in the world that goes beyond defending or reflecting, completely isolating its user in a world completely separate from the regular world. The scabbard dissipates into countless tiny particles in the air and engulfs the user to become a "portable fortress" that shuts out all interference. It is the Bounded Field of the tranquil domain of fairies that keeps out all filth from the outside world, and allows nothing to harm the tranquil King that stands in the land of Avalon. The individual is shielded from all destructive interference in the physical realm, transliners from parallel worlds, and multidimensional communication as far as the sixth dimension. It is on the level of true magic, an actual true magic in itself, that transcends all magecraft, and not even the Five Magics can overcome the barrier

Excalibur (Anti-Fortress) A++: (Blaster 10+)  
A Divine Construct, the pinnacle of holy swords, and the strongest holy sword whose equal is the strongest demonic sword Gram; one of the ultimate god-forged weapons, a Last Phantasm, forged by the planet as the crystallization of the wishes of mankind stored and tempered within the planet.  
Excalibur is a "sword that amplifies", converting its user's magical energy into offensive power and releasing it. It is a weapon of directive energy that converts the magical energy of the wielder into light by accelerating it with her factor of the dragon, intensifying the kinetic energy by convergence and acceleration, allowing for the use of Divine Spirit-level thaumaturgy. It is an "ultimate killing technique" that releases light holding energy equaling Artoria's total amount of magical energy from the tip of the blade once the sword is swung. While the result is what looks like a large beam of light, only the tip of the attack, which is a wave of light that can mow through the surface of the Earth, is capable of doing damage, as the beam is the result of the "dislocation" of everything the attack destroys in its path. Even if it is dodged, those in close proximity can still be temporarily distracted by its intensity.  
The speed required for activation is less than a second, slightly surpassing the speed of the charge of Via Expugnatio. It requires a sufficient amount of distance between her and the enemy, and the further the distance of the opponent increases its effectiveness. Once something is struck by it, no human magecraft of any kind can match it.

Invisible Air (Anti-Unit) C: (Shaker 8)  
A Bounded Field closer to magecraft than a Noble Phantasm that is made up of multiple layers of wind compressed into super-high pressure air with a massive amount of magical energy, which distorts the refraction of light and renders what is inside completely invisible. It is primarily used to conceal Excalibur but can be applied to other objects.  
The compressed wind can also instead be released as a single use projectile weapon called **Strike Air: Hammer of the Wind King**. Acting like a hammer made out of wind, it creates a gale made out of super high pressure condensed air that is powerful enough to easily crush and blow away armies and fling a stone slab weighing several tons into the air as if it were nothing. It is a long range attack with a constant amount of damage that is not influenced by Saber's physical condition or her level of magical energy. It can only be blocked by overwhelming it with a higher amount of magical energy. It can also be used to accelerate her own body towards her opponent, allowing her to travel at three times her normal speed. By holding the sword in a backward wide stance, she releases the air and changes into a supersonic bullet that charges towards her opponent.

 **For this, I gave her King Arthur's maximum potential form, which Rin Tohsaka was able to achieve in comparison to Shirou. I completely disregarded the Kiritsugu version, because, despite the Endurance and Agility boosts in exchange for a drop to Strength (that can be compensated for with Mana Burst), that massive Luck stat drop is _completely_ unacceptable in the Worm setting. I'd rather have Instinct operating at maximum efficiency thank-you-very-much, instead of having to make her take a chump-attack that does a lucky crit.**

 **To put why I put so much value on Luck and Instinct into perspective, remember this. Arturia was _weakened_ by having Shirou as a Master in the war and only had C-Rank Agility. Meanwhile, Cu-Chulainn was at full power when they fought, had A-Rank Agility, an equal Strength stat, and could move at supersonic speeds. With Instinct and Luck at such a high level though, that didn't even matter, and Arturia was able to even match his speed once she started using Mana Burst. She was able to take on a supersonic opponent _while weakened_ and then proceeded to redirect a literally _fate altering_ attack. He ran at that point, not being an idiot. Like hell am I getting rid of the advantages that let her do it.**

 **Seriously though, fuck having Lancer-level Luck.**

 **Constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged, but pointless nitpicking and flaming are both decidedly not. I welcome helpful trivia and edits that will help me improve my writing, but try not to take this all too seriously, dear readers. I _am_ writing for fun.**


	2. Return 1:2

**Disclaimer: Don't own Worm or anything from the Nasu-verse. This is a non-profit work of fan-based parody, written SOLELY for personal enjoyment and the perusal of the masses.**

 **AN:**

 **Alright, since some people seem to be confused, allow me to clarify.**

 **The setting goes that Taylor died in the Locker and was reincarnated as the fate/stay female version of King Arthur, otherwise known as Artoria Pendragon. Unfortunately, in fear of the slowly returning memories of her past life and of becoming the person in them, she rejected them and ended up going about her time as the King, trying to stick strictly to the tales and uphold King Arthur's legend from the few bits she did grasp from her past life's memories, before rejecting them. As can be expected by following the same path, she met the same end Arthur did. She dies and does not go to Avalon or get summoned in the Grail War by Shirou. For reasons she is still unclear about, she finds herself once more in her Locker in the modern era, but with noticeably boosted versions of her abilities as Artoria as well as the body she got them in. As far as why any of this is happening...**

 **Does there** ** _need_** **to even be a reason? It's basically an alt-power fic with a twist; there doesn't need to be more. I am frankly** ** _violently_** **opposed to including the Holy Grail (or subsequent war) in this story. It's been done many times over, and I want something fresh. As far as anyone should be concerned, a bored Zelretch is responsible for all of this in combination with Earth-Bet's Alaya and/or Gaia, unless I think of a better reason.**

 **As far as the lack of more magic-users, I'm blaming the Entities and/or Cauldron working in unknowing concert. Or, there's just no more magic users left by the time of the Entities' arrival on Bet. It's the multiverse; if it can happen, then somewhere it has. This Earth-Bet is one of those "somewhere"s. In other words, they've been hand-waved away, and/or if they do still exist they'll be having nothing to do with my story.**

 **Also, I don't know why someone wanted to be super technical about what constituted as the "modern era", but whatevs. *shrug* People know what I mean by it, and, while I do appreciate and even encourage constructive criticism, nitpicking at little things like that is decidedly not... unless you can tell me what the "current" era would technically be called.**

* * *

 **ALL CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS HAVE BEEN RECEIVED AND CONTEMPLATED!**

 **Undeen, "Rex", & Seikah: In particular, Undeen, Seikah and an anonymous reviewer, named "Rex" pointed out that it would likely have been extremely out of character for Taylor to do nothing, even at risk to the future, if she thought she could make things better. I saw the validity of that, and -though I'm usually violently opposed to memory loss-type plots (even temporarily)- Undeen's suggestion (with a little twist to it) worked too well for the plot for me not to integrate it. Therefore, edits to the first chapter have been made! And yeah, I'll be working to find a way to keep this story from being a generic curb-stomp, because well... Saber class. 'Nuff said.**

 **A Guest reviewer commented that they would like to see Mordred in the future, even if only in an Omake. When I first started this story, I was intending for it to only be Artoria!Taylor brought into the modern era, but now that it's mentioned... Well, no guarantees about it being integrated into the story's canon, but I'll see what I can do on that front. I'm interested in seeing that too now. ;)**

 **KingHoborg: I'm tempted now.**

 **mr I hate znt nobles kill em (geez, that long name tho, lol): Yes, I will be trying to base the world more on Canon than Fanon, but this is a crossover, so there will probably be divergences. Right now, I'm currently wondering if _YOU_ have even read Worm Canon, considering you had to actually ask me what Taylor looked like. No, she returned in Artoria's body, which replaced her first one. Artoria is both short and blond with green eyes, while Taylor is tall, brunette, and I believe hazel-eyed.**

 **bissek: Ah, you caught that, didn't you? Oh yes, she is going to be something of a star in that particular fight. ;) And yeah, she's someone, who thinks in terms of cities now, when she considers making progress in war. Brockton Bay's villains are in for a surprise. Of course, she's not really enthused about being put in a position of power again -or _being_ commanded for that matter, so she'll likely leave things be at first, until they inevitably start interfering with her life. A+ Rank Luck or no, she's still Taylor, and this is Brockton Bay of Earth-Bet.**

* * *

Return 1.2

 _(If this story had an opening theme, it would be the OST, Unlimited Blade Works. Really sets the mood of the first chapter with a sort of mournful, yet having hope for the future, kind of vibe. It's basically what I _listen to while _writing this.)___

It was a few minutes of rather frustratingly intense and fruitless memory searching later, before Taylor thought to locate her father in a more roundabout fashion. She could still remember him working with a union of dockworkers, which... she also had no idea how to find. She assumed their offices -and thusly, her father- would be near the docks in the east, so that became her planned course.

An hour and change later, the twice-over temporally displaced and physically young woman could be seen roof-hopping (minor inward squeal there, because it wasn't like she could have indulged in this random childish impulse before with Mana Burst, what with being a King, who had a reputation to uphold) across the roofs of the derelict dregs of the city that were collectively known as the docks. She hadn't been having much luck in her search for her father's place of work, and, despite her speed, there was only so much ground one could cover, when they had no idea where the hell they were supposed to actually be going.

This had led to multiple cases of backtracking on her own path, involuntarily going in circles, and just generally being really, _really_ _lost_. It was tedious drudge-work that grated at her patience. Truly, she had never been the most patient of individuals during her royal tenure. She had always been the first to act, the first to charge into battle at the head of her army, and the first to exact righteous vengeance upon the foes of her people. She had lead with both ferocity and decisiveness, and being delayed in this way thoroughly vexed her. All in all, it was annoying, but it did give her more time to think and experiment.

It wasn't just speed that was increased by a significant degree. There were many leaps she would have been unable to make without also currently having the lower body strength required to execute such maneuvers, strength she was still having to hold back in order to prevent causing quite a bit of property damage. In addition, her reflexes were on a hair trigger, and no matter which way she moved or at what angle, she always rather instinctively got a sudden, powerful sense of how to move next to ricochet off walls like a demented bouncy-ball and run across the sides of buildings in defiance of gravity... at least for the short time that momentum lasted.

Truly, her own mobility astounded her, and her stamina was just as positively effected. Even with her training, dragon blood, magic, and experience in long, dragging battles, she would have been sweating from this sort of exertion by this point, but she wasn't even winded. It was slightly unnerving.

As she cleared another rooftop in a casual leap from a shorter perch to another that was larger by over two stories, Taylor couldn't help but marvel again at the speed and power she now possessed. At the same time, however, she was more than a bit wary of whatever force was behind the boost to her abilities, one which she was beginning to suspect as also being behind her reincarnation. Unfortunately, further investigation on those lines of thought were perhaps going to have to be left for a far later time, she decided; right now, she needed to locate her dad. Another jump to a roof of a similar height, and she paused to try and ascertain her location once more and/or, if she was lucky, recognize a familiar landmark.

She moved on. Disappointing. It was beginning to seem lik- Out of the far corner of her vision, something immediately caught her attention.

She skidded to a stop abruptly, gravelly roof scraping roughly against steel boots. The former ruler turned sharply to her left for a double-take at the sight of sign that had only come into view from an angle at her new position.

In faded white paint on a blue background, it read, "Dockworkers Association."

Well, what were the odds of that? Finally!

The building said sign was attached to looked to have once seen better days, but was nonetheless visibly active, with many tall, well-built men of a multitude of demeanors and ethnicities, hurrying about the yard outside the facilities, hauling all sorts and sizes of building materials she couldn't name to where they needed to go, be that into one of the nearby storage warehouses or onto a large vehicle for transport to a contracted location.

The noise that echoed throughout the entire nearby district was fantastically loud in the form of rumbling construction vehicles and all manner of power tools, and the sharp scent of oil, gasoline, and sweating men hard at work pervaded the air with a genuine and intimidating, but somehow welcome, feel.

It was almost like being right back in Camelot and overlooking her men, whilst they were training to better themselves in service to their country.

She blinked in surprise and triumph, shaking off the feeling of familiarity. The past was the past, and she had wasted her chance to change it. _Now_ was the time for the future.

Artoria grinned and swiftly repositioned herself to drop into the deserted ally she had just leapt over moments prior, landing effortlessly with a light, far softer than should be possible clank of steel on concrete.

That done, she considered her next step.

At the very least, it occurred to her that it _might_ not be the best of ideas to simply stride straight into the facilities bedecked in full plate armor... or armored at all. She recalled that it was not uncommon for 'capes' to attempt to cow the workforce her father managed into following their vile ways. He had mentioned it multiple times in the past and the troubles it had caused for many of his fellows, whom were considered "impure" by the filth preying on the defenseless citizens of Brockton.

And, in particular, she felt it might be unwise to approach at all bearing a knight motif. The memories were foggy and rusty, but she could recall the impudent "Empire" gang that had dug its foul roots into the bedrock of this city had a fondness for the "knightly" archetype in a unsightly attempt to project a veneer of civility to the masses.

Really, the first thing any one of these good men would assume at her approach was a new 'cape' making their first impression in the name of whatever gang they now served. She couldn't help but scowl in personal offense at how the chivalrous reputation of knight-kind was being degraded so badly in this city by those degenerates and vagabonds. Disgusting.

She shook her head. _Enough contemplating righteous vengeance, Artoria; there art a proper time and place. I am aesthetically unwelcome to these good men._ So _, what art I to do in regards to mine appearance?_

That _was_ the question, wasn't it? She could remove her armor, but that would still leave her with a fanciful, just below knee-length, royal-blue combat dress that was most _certainly_ _far_ out of place for publicly presenting oneself in this era.

Her brow furrowed in frustration, as she stared across the way towards her goal, relegating an armor-clad right hand to supporting her chin in thought. So close, yet so far.

Besides which, where was she supposed to _keep_ her effects once removed? It wasn't like she had an armor rack or squire available, so the only answer was to leave them in the ally.

Artoria scowled. Like _hell_. And allow some lucky bandit to snatch the only things she had left to her from Camelot? Not a chance.

She sighed and glared reproachfully at her innocent garb. Of all the times that she needed magic and didn't have the dexterity or training to construct even a pathetic bounded field to shield her things from dishonest sorts.

She could still feel the changes in her body, and she could vaguely tell that some sorcery had been committed upon her armor as well, but she couldn't quite place...

She dug a little deeper into the feeling with all of her meager, combat-specialized ability.

The magic, which currently infused her entire being and now empowered her base abilities beyond even her old Mana Burst limits, was also interwoven heavily into her armor, providing it with what she assumed was even greater strength -though she'd, of course, yet to test it- as well as a nearly insignificant link to her own magic core. In all truth, she might not have ever noticed the link were she not deliberately searching for it, but her own monstrous reserves of magical energy had blown the link up far wider than it would otherwise be.

Artoria poked at the connection curiously with a little burst of mana and was baffled to witness her armor practically light up with energy in quantities even _she_ had no trouble sensing. A bit startled and worried for her armor's continued integrity in the face of further reinforcement, she grabbed onto the prana and jerked back on it roughly and clumsily, much like an impatient and inexperienced fishermen reeling in their very first potential catch.

She was baffled rather more-so, when she was engulfed in a small tornado of her own mana, that nearly filled the entire ally with its cerulean glow.

When the near-blinding light show -that she was inwardly praying had gone unseen- died down a moment later, she found herself rather distinctly lacking in armor and clad only in her combat dress with a pair of black boots fitted to this era, replacing her armored ones.

She shut down the panic at the abrupt loss of her protective attire before it could begin and dug back inwards with her senses, looking for the connection she had recklessly tampered with.

To the King of Knights' relief, she found it. The end connection, where her armor had been metaphysically tethered to her body was an interesting thing. It projected a sense of almost... fullness, when she prodded at it, and she got the immediate notion that her armor was actually _more_ than safe right where it was, inside her body.

She frowned in thought. She'd never recalled her armor retaining such an ability before and felt rather confident in even her meager magical ability to have noticed the link to her body the moment she used Mana Burst at full throttle. That meant the ability had been bestowed upon her...

...again almost certainly by the force behind her return.

The former king of Britain scowled and shook her head. Still more questions that would likely never be answered.

She "looked" inward once more and prodded at the link to the... expanded, yet compressed...? ...space inside her. She wondered if it was only her armor she could do this with...

Her lips pursed together.

 _Well_ , she knew she hadn't been wearing these particular boots under her armored ones, so they _had_ to have come from _somewhere_. Were there other unknown effects stored inside her new magical... space for stuff? (She really had to come up with a proper name for this metaphysical thing that was bigger on the inside, yet somehow also fit inside her.) Regardless, there was only one way to be certain.

She reached for her link to the... stuff-space (so she was fumbling for creative names, so sue her) and then reached for the link that she heavily suspected existed, which connected to her combat dress... She found it. With a huff and a metaphorical crossing of her fingers, Arturia floated about the concept of "modern" in her head and _pulled_.

In another veritable _explosion_ of mana that otherwise did seemingly nothing untoward to her surroundings, a bright, cerulean light-show whisked away the last of her Middle Ages garb.

Her emerald eyes reopened with a few blinks moments later, having been shut during the disorienting transition, and gazed warily downward...

In all honesty, she had half expected to find herself clad in naught but her undergarments... or _worse_ (For truly, it never could be certain whether or not Merlin had had a fell, perverted hand in any unknown magic she encountered.), but she was _more_ than relieved to see that this happened to not be the case.

In the place of her one-piece, combat dress was a white, long-sleeved blouse with a collar and blue ribbon tied in a bow beneath said collar. The half-way up to knee-length black boots had persisted over black, skin-tight leggings she couldn't recall the name of. And above that to finish it all out, there was a conservative, blue, knee length skirt, which her white blouse was tucked into the waistline of and secured with another, larger, blue ribbon, which was, itself, wrapped around her waist and tied into another large bow at the back.

All in all, the outfit was a bit too eye-catching and feminine for her tastes -she who had rejected her own femininity for so long, practically since the moment she knew what gender _was_ , and had hardly had any better reason to display in her first life, but it was modern and of acceptable decency. It would suffice for her needs at the moment. She nodded to herself in relative mollification and strode out of the ally with a reflexive self-assured gait, getting more than a few unwelcome looks from passerby, whom she studiously ignored or warned-off with a sharp, pointed glare.

* * *

Several rather decidedly uncomfortable blocks later, she found herself more than a bit baffled and annoyed at how easily she drew attention.

Since nearly the minute she'd left the ally, it had been a subtle itch at the edge of her senses, constantly setting her on edge without any real danger to react to, but she could almost physically _feel_ the gazes of the other pedestrians. She resisted the urge to check for any remaining filth from The Locker in response.

As a king, she was used to garnering attention, both good and bad alike, but it was almost like... She could have _sworn_ some of these people were actually looking at her in mild awe, but that _couldn't_ be right. There should be no reason for people to be watching her at this moment. For heaven's sake, she had just arrived in this time! She had committed no great deeds, defeated no mighty foes! As far as they should be concerned, she was just another everyday citizen going about her unremarkable business.

Was she doing something wrong? Was what she was wearing terribly unusual, even now? No, the clothes weren't the issue, at least. She'd seen other women wearing far more... comely garb in the open, since arriving here, baring bellies and long stretches of leg. Artoria kept her face impassive at the urge to wrinkle her nose in remembrance. She huffed. How improper. Even the wenches of her time had the sense to limit their dealings to the nightly crowd or an established whorehouse.

She chanced turning her head to return the glance of a young man, who was walking in the opposite direction on the other side of the street with his arm linked with a young blonde of apparent equal age, and raised a questioning eyebrow. She blinked in surprise, when he nearly tripped at her attention, only being saved from the embarrassing public display by his... girlfriend halting his fall almost before it could begin.

The other blond flicked a glare over at her, before looking startled, then visibly perturbed. The other girl twisted her face away and then seemed to hurry her pace in the opposite direction.

Worrying.

Artoria resolved not to repeat the incident and straightened up with a sniff, regaining her composure and subtly hastening her pace.

She finally entered the main yard of the Dockworkers Association's facilities and hesitated only briefly, before entering the tallest and most presentable structure present, which she assumed was the offices.

With a light squealing of the doors on their hinges, she entered an apparent reception area -complete with a middle-aged, brunette secretary or some-such worker, sitting behind a desk directly across from the pair of swinging, glass doors, which was lined on both right and left sides of the room with leather couches in variants of blue, black, red, and brown. She smiled minutely in satisfaction; this looked to be the place. Only moments later, she had to suppress a frown, however, when the secretary looked up and jolted subtly, upon catching sight of her striding up to the desk. The woman remaining struck silent for an awkward moment, akin to the people she'd passed by on the street but more noticeable, blinking multiple times as if trying to clear blurry vision.

The King of Knights sucked in a calming breath to ward against her mounting confusion and frustration and cleared her throat loudly enough to border on impolite without quite making the jump, startling the hapless secretary from her observation.

"Ah-! Er, excuse me, miss! My, I don't quite recall having a habit of zoning-out like that," the receptionist suddenly chirped out far more perkily than Artoria felt prepared to deal with.

The King of Knights sighed and just shook her head. "No harm was done; mine self... hast been getting many a strange look this day. The fault is mine." She grumbled under her breath. "Methinks this attire twas a mistake."

The receptionist -"Molly" if the name tag was not mistaken- waved her off and smirked. "Oh, I'm sure you've been getting those glances for good reason, young lady." She shook her head in amusement at the subtle evil-eye directed at her in response. "But I'm sure you didn't come here to gossip, yeah? So, what do you need, miss...?"

"Pendragon," was the reflexive answer.

Molly blinked. "Eh? Wait really? _Pendragon_ , like _the_ King Arthur? That's your _actual_ last name?"

Artoria's expression could hardly have been flatter.

"Ah, I guess you _would_ get that a lot, wouldn't you? And you'd probably get real tired of it _real_ fast. Well, cool. Small world, where people still get interesting last names. The more you know," Molly shrugged. "So then, miss Pendragon, what do you need?"

"I would like to request an audience with a..." She struggled briefly to recall the long-unused term of address, especially when a part of her reflexively wanted to call him Dad. " _Mr._ _Hebert_ to discuss a rather private matter, regarding his daughter, Taylor, and something that happened at school. Is he available perchance?"

All technically true, and it was vague enough to not even remotely hint that _she_ was said daughter. Of course, the usage of her second life's familial name might ring bells of suspicion in her father's head. For someone to be actually be named "Pendragon" in this day and age was either the height of arrogance or absurdity, and someone claiming that as their name would almost certainly be a fake and liar.

Molly nodded and pushed a button on a desk-top intercom, eliciting a short crackle of static. "Hey, Mr. Hebert, sir..?"

There was an audible shuffling of paper for several moments, then silence.

"Yeah-huh?" came the response after a pause.

Taylor's heart squeezed at the voice, but she kept her response from effecting her outward expression of indifference.

"Yeah, there's a girl here, going by a Miss Pendragon. Looks about the age of that Taylor of yours. She says she wants to talk to you about her and something to do with school."

There was a moment of silence, accompanied by the shuffling of more paper. "Ah... Yeah, sure, anything for an acquaintance of Taylor's; just give me a minute to sort things out up here, Molly. I'll let you know when it's presentable." With that, the intercom's crackling ceased.

"Whelp, you heard the boss-man," Molly chirped. "Why don't you take a load off, and have a seat on one of the couches, instead of waiting around. Mr. Hebert's got a poor habit of trying to multitask documents, so it could be a while, before he's done sorting them out."

Taylor simply nodded in response and ambled over to one of the brown, leather couches, lining the left wall of the reception area. She gave the seating arrangements a critical once-over before settling down, and nearly melting from the sensation of sinking slightly into the soft material. If there was one thing this era had over her prior one, it was modern, creature comforts, such as these. She sighed and closed her eyes, falling into contemplation.

She thought back to the strange looks she been receiving, since presenting herself to other people in this era for the first time. More than one man had given her obvious wanton glances, while others had tried to be more subtle. However, the women had been even odder. Most of them had acted like she'd committed some slight against them, while some rare others had leered at her in a remarkable mirror of the men... She knew and grudgingly accepted that she was a physically attractive example of the fairer gender (she'd had to work pretty hard to hide it from her subjects, after all, and was still regarded as a "pretty" male), but this was a bit much, even for her.

It was odd. As a King, she had commanded both respect and admiration from her subjects and knights; _in the beginning, at least_ , she added sourly. However, it _wasn't_ an innate thing to her. She had had to _earn_ that admiration and awe through her own deeds. _After all_ , it hadn't truly become apparent to her subjects that she no longer aged till a good ways into her reign, so she hadn't had that absurd reputation as a "holy, and immortal" King to draw allies to her. _No_ , she had built her kingdom from the ground up and _earned_ the respect of those she commanded, _earned_ the oaths of loyalty sworn to her. However, today...

It almost seemed like people around her were innately inclined to show her that same awe, grudging respect, and even fear that she had earned in her second life for no reason other than because she _existed_. It was as though she carried with her to this era all the authority she no longer deserved, and people would involuntarily act in regards to that, more inclined to pay her attention, less inclined to disagree with her suggestions, even if they were only mere suggestions.

It disturbed her.

There was a label for people in this era with powers like that, a category she couldn't currently put name to, and they were feared and mistrusted almost as a whole... for good reason too, unfortunately.

Both parts of her, Artoria and Taylor alike, were in agreement on the matter. It was a troublesome situation.

She, Artoria Pendragon, was already resigned by this point. She had _had_ her chance to save her kingdom and had wasted it completely. She was no longer that king in this era, just a foolish girl with too much power and the inability to use it right. She didn't deserve any of the regard these people were affording her; if anything, she deserved only their scorn. She didn't _want_ to be looked up to. She didn't _want_ to be asked for direction. She didn't want to _stand out_. It was as though this strange power had been bestowed upon her simply for the sake of cruel amusement.

A long, frustrated exhale escaped her nostrils.

All she wanted now was to reconnect with the last of her living family and live an average life out of sight, till such time as she could sort out her-

"Hey hey!" Molly's voice rang out, jolting the former ruler from her moping. The receptionist pointed towards the staircase to her desk's right. "Fifth floor; then, just take the last door on the left. Easy."

Arturia stood and nodded in acknowledgement of the directions, swiftly going about following them without hesitation.

* * *

The door she stood before was plain and practical in design, with chipped, black paint that hadn't been refreshed in too long. A grey plaque on the front stated, "Head of Hiring."

A steadying breath was taken in and slowly let out, as Taylor fidgeted indecisively.

It had been over twenty five years since she had last spoken with her first father, whilst it had only been the morning of this very day for him.

She felt... uncomfortable, to say the least. She was, despite her looks, a fully-grown and matured woman, forged in the fires of hardship and war. She wasn't certain how to feel about the man, who had been left to parent her alone, and she wasn't at all sure how _he_ would feel about _her_.

How would _she_ feel, she wondered, were her _own_ child to be sent off to distant lands to grow up without her over the course of many years, only to be returned at the moment they first left?

It would be as though dealing with an entirely different person!

She grimaced. Would he even believe the tale she had to tell? Would he accept her as she was, or would he reject her... like she had Mordred.

Guilt churned in her gut, ugly and raw, at the remembrance of one of the greatest, most impulsive mistakes she had ever made.

She had looked at Mordred then and seen only a plot against her, living proof of a grave violation dealt to her. She had been near physically sick at the moment of the revelation of the girl's heritage, and she had unthinkingly lashed out with cold, cruel, temper-fueled words.

A mere child, who had admired her for _years_ , practically from the moment she'd _heard_ of her, was hurt badly enough for that admiration to turn to utterly _seething_ scorn and the most _bitter_ of hatred. Because, in the end, Mordred _had_ only been a child, had never grown up right, never matured properly through human experiences, and she _didn't_ understand, _couldn't_ understand Artoria's irrational hatred in that moment, didn't see what Morgan had _done_. And as any child, she took it all _very personally_.

One of the only times in her entire reign, where she had allowed her emotions to get out of hand, and, henceforth, her kingdom's fall had been all but assured.

Artoria shook her head, violently dispelling those thoughts, and huffed out a calming breath, rolling her shoulders and rapping twice on the door.

"Come in."

Forgoing further hesitation and straightening her posture, she returned her icy mask to its proper place and did so, the door creaking softly on well-oiled hinges.

The girl couldn't help feeling a bit of welcome nostalgia, as she examined the room, shutting the door softly behind herself. It had been so very, very long, since she had last laid eyes on this place, but, somehow, she felt she could say with confidence that it hadn't changed in the slightest.

The smoky smell of ink, paper, and pencil lead along with the fumes of coffee grounds pervaded throughout the room; a single, large desk dominated the northern end of the room from the door and was joined by a pair of swivel chairs, one before and behind said desk. The far wall was dominated by office cabinets, several with open drawers, which were near filled to the brim with a multitude of multicolored binders, and to her left...

She blinked. "Why is there a coffee machine in the same room that you mean to hire new laborers in? What if they are driven away by the smell?" A moment later, she inwardly cursed. A tiny part of her had always wondered, and the question had already been asked, so there was nothing to be done about it now. Said coffee machine rested atop another, smaller table, bedecked with several stacks of styrofoam cups, some napkins, plastic spoons, and a bowl of sugar cubes.

To her mild surprise, her father only chuckled with an amused twinkle in his eye. "Well, first, it's just convenient that way to have it here; all-nighters, you know? Second... Sometimes, a potential hire _also_ enjoys a good cup of joe, and if they don't... Well, if they can't put up with the smell of coffee grounds for a few minutes without complaint, then I'm not sure if I can be confident in their ability to handle our more strenuous work, not that that's a _real_ deal-breaker as far as hiring goes... but it factors in."

Well, that certainly wasn't the way she'd wanted to open this conversation, but it would have to do. At the very least, there were far worse topics they could have started their discussion on. On another note, the answer that had been provided made enough sense to satisfy her. She turned to finally lay her full attention upon her father for the first time in decades.

Sitting in the swivel chair behind the large desk in the center of the room, holding a mug about half-full of the aforementioned coffee in it, Danny Hebert was at first glance a tall, skinny specimen, even from his reclining position. Dark-haired and lightly balding, the bespectacled man wasn't exactly an outstanding presence, but he still exuded a sense of being of an intellectual bent, due to the sharp, green eyes peering over his glasses with the glint of a strategist.

Truly, in the field of business and managing _other_ men, who _could_ snap you like a twig, where he couldn't, this was not a person to be underestimated. Looking at it another way, Danny Hebert, Head of Hiring and Union Spokesperson for the Dockworkers Association, could almost be considered an unofficial leader of yet a fourth major gang in Brockton Bay. He was a man, who had seen Brockton Bay at it's worst and come out _alive_ , if a bit unavoidably emotionally scathed.

She blinked. Where in the hell had _that_ internal monologue come from? Looked like some of her old memories were shaking off their cobwebs.

"Come on, go ahead and take a seat," Danny prodded, setting his mug on a napkin and gesturing to the chair across from him. Taylor accepted the offer and sat, folding her hands in her lap. "This is about school, right? Are you a friend of Taylor's? She hasn't been talking to me much about what's going on over there, not about her friends, teachers, or even projects. She hasn't even had Emma -you known an Emma Barnes?- over to visit since she started going either- _Ah_ , I'm rambling. My apologies, but this is a unique chance for me." She could see the minor stress lines tighten with false humor, as he took a sip from his mug.

Taylor's lips pursed tightly. He just seemed so... eager to be involved in her life. Had she really ostracized him so much back then that he felt he couldn't just be this open with her directly? She grimaced; it was time to burst his bubble, and she wasn't going to enjoy it.

"Emma Barnes..." she started slowly. "Why dost you suppose she hast been absentee from your daughter's presence for so long, Mr. Hebert?"

His lips tightened in response, as did his grip his mug.

"Tis a simple deduction; you hast likely guessed correctly for a while now, _but_ you never pressed for answers, deciding to let her come to you in her own time, correct?" she continued. "They are no longer friends, haven't been for some time; in fact, they are quite _bitter_ enemies, and that is only the beginning of it. I came here for a reason today, Mr. Hebert. Her troubles are far bigger than that. The animosity displayed is entirely pointless and one sided on the part of the Barnes girl, and she has resorted to an expansive bullying campaign that has persisted since their first day at Winslow."

Danny's eyes squeezed shut, face reddening in palpable, explosive, worry-filled rage, and he exhaled a long breath, before turning sharp, green eyes on her identical pair. He exhaled explosively once more through his nose, as his face regained itself a far healthier color. "Tell... Tell me everything."

"Emma Barnes has effectively turned the entire school against Taylor, made her a social pariah, and her new 'friend', Sophia, acts as an enforcer of sorts, contributing the most physical abuse to Taylor's torment and keeping others in line with the threat of the same treatment. There _is_ another primary tormenter, who's rather insignificant overall, and I can't recall her name. She's simply a petty lapdog of an airhead, who conducts a constant series of 'pranks' to whittle down at Taylor's patience and ability to resist the more serious bullies while goading others to do the same. Things like spitballs, spilled juice, glue on seats, and ruined homework are both daily and relentlessly pursued, and they aren't above using the same 'prank' again the day after, if not multiple times in the same day."

" _Why_... has nothing been done? Why didn't she tell me about any of this? I should have gotten a call about this; this can't have all gone unnoticed if it's as bad as you're describing!"

"Verily, that tis perhaps the most insidious part of this whole debacle," Artoria replied, sighing. "The school is very much aware-"

" _What_?!"

"Taylor has pleaded with the faculty, but they have written off plainly obvious infractions. Other times they have given far inferior punishments than the crime warrants, or they have called her a liar to her face. At one point, she even tried to submit a transfer application to a different school; they shredded it in front of her. Mr. Hebert, this goes beyond mere bullying. The staff are aware and complicit, deliberately favoring Taylor's tormenters. _Whom_ is coercing them is unclear, but the fact remains that they are _almost certainly_ being bribed or blackmailed by _someone_ with an investment in either Emma Barnes or Sophia Hess. No one else fits the scenario, and they'll play as dirty as they need to in order fend off any attempts to change the status-quo."

Danny might as well have been _frothing_ in rage. Sitting there, trembling in fury, his glasses seemed to have actually fogged up a bit from how much hot air he was exhaling. " _Barnes_...," he growled.

"Act not rashly, Mr. Hebert. Suing the school or the girls with your monetary situation is unwise. More to the point, the only lawyer, who might give you enough of a discount for their services to make such a venture profitable, is the father of one of your daughter's primary tormenters."

"Those fuckers!" His fists slammed against his desk, rattling his mug dangerously.

"Again, _think_ before you act! Mr. Barnes may not even be _aware_ of his daughter's frankly _criminal_ level of harassment of yours; he could very well be in the same situation you are! Approaching this with your temper at the helm, can only make the worst of the situation. There is every chance that bringing this to him the right way will preserve your friendship and see Emma Barnes punished in a fitting manner!" He blinked and considered that, before grunting in reluctant agreement; she sighed. "That said, unfortunately, it gets worse."

" _How_ can that get _worse_?!"

"Today, they took her locker, filled it with rotting garbage and used feminine hygiene products, and then stuffed her in there." He stilled. "No one said anything; no one did anything; no one let her out, even after her tormenters left; and not a one of the faculty was notified. Or, if they were, they left it be. She was left in there for hours, gathering cuts, terrible infections, and being bitten by all manner of pests."

Danny was up out his chair with roar of fury, and his seat tumbled to the floorboards in a terrible clatter. Taylor tried not to flinch and mostly succeeded, as he hurled his mug against the wall with a ringing crash. " _I'll kill those little shits!_ Fuckers! Who the hell do they think they are! And the _school_ -! Those bastards!" It sure was lucky they were so high up, or, surely, they'd have gathered some unwanted intruders to the conversation. On the other hand, Danny Hebert's fierce temper, once invoked, was infamous in its intensity, and those with experience with it would probably wait to let it die down on its own.

"There's more."

Danny's shoulders abruptly slumped. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily, looking defeated, as he leaned down and righted his chair again with a grunt. He huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His silence seemed to encourage her to continue.

"As I recall, there are sometimes 'capes', whom are afflicted with permanent, physical mutations upon gaining their powers?"

Face paling, he rounded on her and started to look even more concerned. "Why... would you ask that sort of question?"

"You call her 'Little Owl'," she spoke.

His brow furrowed. "Again, what does that-?"

"There is a broken step on the porch; the plumbing is poor; and the coal chute has gone unused for years."

He was starting to look concerned and slightly angry. "Why are you telling me this? Did Taylor tell you these things? You haven't even been-"

She forged on; at this point, she was just carelessly throwing around any knowledge that would solidify her claim. "She was an English professor." He stilled. "Taylor looks just like smaller version of her... There was a lot of yelling the last night you saw her..." His face turned thunderous. "Cellphones are rather taboo around your house now, considering Annette Hebert died holding one."

His face purpled with rage. " _How_ do you know those things?! Are you a _cape_? A Stranger, maybe? Talk! The next thing out of you mouth better be answers, _little miss 'Pendragon'_ , or I swear-!"

" _Father_ , I am she."

"What?!" Momentarily, his rage was replaced with disbelief at the bold statement, and then seemed to gain a whole new life, as veins actually bulged across his forehead. He looked about ready to strike her in fury, but he was holding back his temper admirably.

"I am Taylor, your daughter," she stated, clenching her teeth and staring him down evenly from across the desk. "When I freed myself from that... filth, I bent my locker door near in half. When I stood alone in a deserted hallway, where no one remained to assist me, I was clad in fine silks and armor of the greatest make. When I freed myself..." She paused, unsure whether to even tell him the next part. In the end, she decided, it mattered little. She had been permanently, physically altered; there was no point in trying to conceal what had happened to make her as she was. "When I freed myself, it was as though I had dreamt an entire lifetime in that locker, as though I had been someone else... When I came out of that locker, I wore the body of someone else, someone, who was not Taylor Hebert. _Over twenty-five years_ , I lived there in another place and time; it was a dream too visceral and painful to be an illusion, filled with war, and knights, and _so much_ death. A family too... I had one there. They are all dead now." She took a deep breath. "Perhaps it _was_ fake, but it was as real as it could be for me. For all intents and purposes, I died... and was effectively reincarnated, and I lost everyone I cared about all over again. I thought I had died again... and for the last time, but for some reason... I've been sent back, and I have not seen my father in _decades_..."

After a moment of silence, Danny ran a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling explosively to calm himself. For a solid minute, they remained silent, aside from the deep breaths of the elder of the two, Danny standing with eyes pinched in thought, occasionally shooting her searching glances, and Taylor looking him straight in the eye, presenting herself as completely open for judgment and acceptant, no matter his ruling. This was how she chose to conduct herself. There would be no argument, no spite. Should he reject her, well... she would find another path in this world, but she hoped it wouldn't come to that. Regardless of his decision, however, she would _not_ be the Mordred in this situation, at least in regards to her illegitimate progeny's temper. She _refused_ to go that route.

With a low sigh, Danny closed his eyes and turned away, and Taylor found herself finally looking down, twisting and tangling her fingers in distressed motions.

Her teeth grit together tightly, even as she maintained outward composure.

So, that was it, huh? That was the end of it.

Well, that was probably what she deserved in this situation. At the very least, Danny was a better parent than she had ever been. Mordred... It always came back to her, didn't it?

Really, there were so many ways things had gone wrong with that child, and _she_ certainly hadn't _helped_ matters. Mordred had been physically of an equal age to Artoria's unaging body, but she had been more than a little bit younger mentally. Mordred couldn't have even been called a teenager in mind. She was quite literally a mere _child_! _That_ was why, no matter her crimes, no matter her role in the rebellion and the fall of Camelot, Artoria couldn't bring herself to _truly_ hate the little girl, who had been a pawn from the start, a tool of spite and vengeance. _No_ , the only one she could hate in that situation was _Morgan_.

She started a bit, when hands placed themselves on both of her shoulders, and looked up to meet the questioning gaze of her father.

"If... you... went through _all of that_ , dealt with that since the beginning of high school, _why_? _Why_ did you never tell me? _Why_ did you never ask for help? It took your own supposed _death_ to get you to come to me! _Why_?" he begged, bespectacled eyes imploring her for answers.

She looked down again, cheeks burning with renewed shame. "I- It was... I was foolish. I was _selfish_. I was _prideful_. I saw you working so hard, struggling to keep your coworkers afloat, to do something good for this city, and I decided that you didn't need anymore problems. I decided that my issues were too insignificant at the time to bother you with, and then... Then when they got out of hand, I decided they were no longer issues that you _could_ handle, even if you tried. I- I decided to just tough it out, turn the other cheek to those bullies. I decided that I was _better_ than them, so I didn't need to fight back. All I had to do was _endure_ , scrape out decent enough grades, and graduate; and _then_ , I would be free of them... It got to the point that I might have even refused help, if it were offered; I was _obsessed_ with proving myself superior in the one way I believed they didn't out-pace me... Where they had good looks, friends, and athleticism, I believed I, alone, had goodness, _purity_ , and I refused to compromise it. Hah! _Pathetic_ , I only made you worry more, didn't I?"

"Silly girl," he muttered tiredly and roughly sighed, couching down to pull her into a full-on hug. She could smell the lingering scent of coffee, the sweat of stress and fading anger, and the scent of fresh ink. With her ear pressed against his collarbone, she could hear the low thumping of his heart. She could feel something slowly dampening the thin fabric over her left shoulder and realized with a start that those were tears being shed for her. "I'm your _father_ , Little Owl. No matter what you think, no matter _how_ old you are inside that noggin of yours, it's my _job_ to try."

" _Yeah_ , I got that _now_ ," she huffed wryly, her own arms hesitantly reaching up to return the gesture, pulling herself closer. For a quiet moment, the father and daughter pair allowed themselves to bask in the shared comfort of a long-frayed connection gaining a small thread of solidarity.

After a minute or so, Danny chuckled and tightened his grip around his daughter. "So let's say I believe you completely... We're going to be having a _long_ talk about what kind of life you lived to have yourself a surname, like _Pendragon_ of all things."

"You _caught_ that, did you? I didn't even reintroduce myself to you personally. You must have been paying more attention than implied to your receptionist's call," she remarked lowly. Her lips trembled, seemingly trying to decide whether to smile in happiness or spread wide so she could bawl, as she hugged her father back as hard as she dared, careful to restrain her new and monstrous strength from crushing him. At the same time, she studiously ignored the prickling at the corners of her eyes and slow blurring of her watery vision.

"I try not to make a habit of missing things," he responded, rubbing the small of her back. She could have responded with a comment about her school troubles, but that would have soured the mood and obliterated it with an asteroid for good measure. Besides, that was old news, old problems that she could care less about now. This was the time for moving on, for looking to the future and enjoying the present.

So, the former ruler of Britain said nothing. And as she snuggled further into her father's embrace, Taylor Hebert allowed tears of relief and joy to run freely down her face. It felt as though, no matter what else happened, so long as this moment existed, _everything_ was going to be all right.

No matter the cost to her foes, no matter what others thought of her, nor the swift deaths she may be forced to deal, the King of Knights would protect what belonged to her...

 _Nothing_ would interfere with this happiness.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Lol, I'm going to be having fun messing with Artoria in the future. She really just wants to try and have a "normal" life right now and stay under the radar as much as possible, but -in combination with her natural looks- that Charisma B of hers is doing** _ **work(read HALPING)**_ **! XD**

 **Damn, I had trouble writing this ending scene. It just kept getting longer and longer, as I felt like I had to continue to flesh it out. I wanted the interactions to feel... real with believable emotions and reactions and shit. I don't think I do emotional stuff too well, but I'm trying my best. Once I finally finish powering through this arc, we can finally get to the interesting stuff about actually using powers for reasons... that will become apparent later. One thing that is similar between Taylor and Artoria is that Pre-canon Taylor and Post-Camlann Artoria have almost non-existent senses of self-worth, so they both find worth in saving/helping others. Artoria no longer has a kingdom or people to protect; it's only Danny she currently considers to be under her aegis, and all the gods help anyone, who dares to poke at the one thing she believes she has left to protect...**

 **Meanwhile, writing Danny is hard, mostly because the Wiki didn't have good description of his personality, other than the fact that he has an explosive temper, but he never releases it in front of Taylor. That meant I had to incorporate it into all Artoria's interactions with him, up till he realized her identity. Other than that, I had to rely on how he's portrayed in fanfiction, along with taking into account his situation and how anyone _else_ might act in his position. I _think_ I've done fairly with his portrayal, but I would appreciate advice on how to improve it. Meanwhile, Danny isn't really effected by Charisma so much, because he's a leader in his own right, and he sees her as _just_ Taylor, not some great person to look up to. I mean to incorporate this mechanic into other interactions. Those who lead others are _far_ less effected by Charisma's _HALPING!_ machinations.**

 **Alright, I've got a bit more of the future plot decided as of now, but I'm not going to be giving hints, besides saying it's regarding some things people have asked me about already in both Reviews and PM's. One thing I will say I have changed is that she doesn't currently possess Avalon, but she WILL be getting it back, and I've already decided how. Also** **, she's got quite few weapons to choose from in her legend, and I'm having trouble deciding which one(s?) she'll start off with in her possession. You might immediately shout that Excalibur should be the obvious choice, but I'm keeping the mechanic that anyone who sees it will almost _certainly_ know who she is on an instinctive level, without even being Servants. So, it really wouldn't make the best starter weapon, till she knows she actually HAS a weapon (or two) in her pocket dimension. ****;)**

 **As an extra little bit of info, I'd like to elaborate on what Servent-like abilities Artoria!Taylor _does_ have. For one thing, she will not have the ability to form contracts with other people to receive mana (that one's pretty obvious). She also can not enter an astral form, much like Artoria never could in canon. She also does not heal over time like a Servant, via simply applying mana; only Avalon gives her that regeneration. She does, however, have the ability to create clothes from mana, to summon and store away her clothes and armor, and to store weapons in a Servant-style pocket dimension. **

**Also, as far as other Round Table members showing up, I will only allow it to be Bedivere, Mordred, and maybe Merlin, if at all (because Bedivere+Excalibur=Interesting Things; Mordred=Character Conflict/Progression+Worthy Opponent; and Merlin is just plain crafty enough to have lasted that long). And this is in order of most likely to appear, if I finally decide to do it. No other members will show up at all.**

 **As a last little detail, I intend to be referring to Artoria!Taylor as Artoria and Taylor alternatively, each respectively during moments, where she acts more like one or the other. For the most part, she'll be Artoria, however, since she's lived about twice as long with that name than she has her former.**

 **I'm not sure if the next chapter will be an Interlude or not, but I'm leaning toward "yes". If so, it will be a multiple POV Interlude, which will establish a good bit of the future plot. I'm thinking about finally going with one of my reviewer's suggestions, so good for them! I wouldn't have ever done it, if they hadn't made the suggestion, but it will be revealed during the Interlude, whether that is next chapter or the one after that.**

 **As always, I welcome and invite constructive criticism that will help me write better, but I rather discourage pointing out small faults without offering a solution. One thing I would appreciate in particular are some shout-outs to any good sites I could use to learn how to write proper Medieval speech for Artoria!Taylor. And as always, I am writing for fun!**


	3. Return 1:3

**Disclaimer: Don't own Worm or anything from the Nasu-verse. This is a non-profit work of fan-based parody, written SOLELY for personal enjoyment and the perusal of the masses.**

 **AN: CONTINUE ON, GOOD SIRS AND MISSIS; NOTHING TO SEE HERE!**

* * *

 **CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS HAVE BEEN CONTEMPLATED AND ACTED UPON!**

 **Fellowman: Yeah, I've been trying to look up how people spoke back then, so I can integrate it into Artoria's speech patterns. Once I get the hang of it and/or find a reliable source for Middle Age lingo, I'll probably end up going back over prior chapters to edit in some proper, Medieval speech. :)**

 **v3yah: Artoria is not wearing a helmet, while she's leaping across the rooftops. The reasons she doesn't feel the need to conceal her face are in part her straightforward attitude as a knight, her actual lacking of any helmet to use in the first place, and her actually forgetting to worry about being recorded at all. After all, she's been absent from the modern era for over two decades. And in any case, she honestly doesn't see a problem with showing her face to her enemies, even in a world of capes, since she's confident in her ability to defend herself. I _may_ do a small PHO bit on the results of that. As for Artoria!Taylor vs Mordred... Well, I'm leaning toward it becoming an inevitable canon occurrence more and more with each passing day of studying these two characters and their relationship. **

**WolfsTrinity & ZeroNu: Yeah, I decided to tone down Charisma and edit those parts. Now, it functions more like a less in-your-face version of Glory-Girl's aura. Also, ZeroNu had a point about Charisma having less effect on leaders being odd, so I removed that and just changed the way it functions, which I'm still trying to fully design. I'm going for a "makes good qualities more noticeable, but doesn't prevent negative qualities (depends on the person's viewpoint) from being taken into account". It works best if there are no known negative qualities for observers to factor in and reinforces good relations and encourages focus on the user.**

 **Killer Hamster, Infinity Emperor, & Rex the Guest: People have been mostly saying Caliburn and Rhongomyniad as a starter weapon. There was Infinity Emperor, who pointed out that dagger she has too. To be honest, I'm not sure about Caliburn. I REALLY want to, but part of its legend is that it's been shattered irreparably. On the other hand though, I've been looking for who or what created it, and that's looking to have most likely been Merlin. In which case, that means it could be remade by human hands and, thus, there should be no problem for the force behind her resurrection. Rhongomyniad though is iffy because it's, frankly, pure EX-Rank bullshit in power level, even more-so than Excalibur. Like, the thing, is _seriously, not even kidding_ a possible Scion one-shotter. The damn thing has the ability to tear open the world of "illusion" and start a new Age of the Gods -if anyone were stupid enough to use it that way. I'm honestly wondering if it's even safe to include that thing in the story. Endbringer-level curb-stomps are not only a _possibility_ with it, but a near _guarantee_.**

 **Lira Lemis the Guest: Good question. The way I see it, the reason tinkertech can't be understood by normals is that regular Tinkers have an involuntary Striker/Shaker power that lets them make parts that make zero sense and shouldn't do what they do. Essentially, they are creating small parts of powers in physical form. So yeah, Magic Resistance will work on any tinkertech that isn't entirely physical/brute force in nature. Scanners, nanothorns, lasers, and even lie detectors will just not work, whereas a straight railgun would do some damage, assuming her Instinct didn't let her dodge/block it. The only Tinker she might have real trouble with is Dragon, because Dragon's tech CAN(THIS IS CANON) be understood and reverse engineered by regular humans. Take Saint and his crew for example. Dragon also doesn't have a physical body that would allow her power to force her to make those nonsensical parts. Everything she makes is pure SCIENCE!**

 **Multiple reviewers: To be clear, there is literally zero chance of anyone from Artoria's time, except possibly Bedivere, Mordred, and Merlin, showing up.**

 **Multiple Reviewers: I'm actually going to be aiming to keep my story as bash-free as possible. Not going to play favorites with any characters, but I'm also not going to go out of my way to make Taylor enemies with every group she doesn't want to join, like the Wards or even Undersiders. To her, it's simple, just do right by the people. You don't need a fancy costume or backers. I'm really not sure how to go about the Undersiders meeting (because we all know it's inevitable at some point). Tattletale is, frankly, stupidly powerful. The only reason she's not like a Thinker 10+ is cause she's not a precognitive and can (this is CANON) only safely use her power about _2 hours a week total_ and does all the rest of her Sherlocking ON HER OWN. Her power is quite possibly the only Thinker power in the world that straight works on Endbringers, because it _cheats_ by using her human senses to gather information, instead of its own (literally only spends like 5 minutes conscious during the Leviathan fight and finds out more about Endbringers in those 5 _minutes_ than the world has discovered in _decades_ ). In that way, she might be able to totally ignore Magic Resistance. I have two separate ways the Undersiders will play a part in the story that depend heavily on whether or not I allow her power to work on Artoria!Taylor -or to what degree.**

 **Multiple reviewers: Glad to see people think I'm at least sort of doing Danny right. I will continue to try and uphold an actual personality for him in my writing and make him an actual character. Trying to do these interactions is _hard_ without a solid canon personality to work off of. Arnoldstrife commented that they didn't find it believable that he would be "smart" and not notice his daughter's bullying problem. Well, he literally _can't_ be _stupid_ , at least, if he's one of the main guys, who's been keeping an entire union afloat with very little work to support them. The dude is Head of Hiring and the Spokesperson, which means he's _got_ to be good with people, but he's a manager of people and a negotiator first, _not_ a detective. I'm pretty sure his ignorance can be excused by the fact that Taylor _deliberately_ went out of her way in canon to hide her problems from him. Along with the fact that he is _still_ depressed from his wife's death and does so much in his job for the Union, he likely doesn't even have the _time or energy_ to investigate properly. Meanwhile, Taylor -in her rant to Danny about the school- is finally no longer suppressing her memories, so she's getting all of them in one big rush the more she instinctively acts on the ones she already has. Thus, with Artoria's mindset to quickly filter through them and reinterpret everything, she's coming to quite a few conclusions she didn't before. I do appreciate the effort you took to comment. Yeah, Danny is hard to write believably, and I am WELL aware of this. I really hope to make a better character out of him than he was portrayed in canon, but it's going to be an uphill battle all the way. But WOW, you really got into that review of yours! XD I hope to improve Danny's ability as a competent parent as the story goes on.**

 **Multiple reviewers: Yeah, Taylor's not really going to have a chance for a secret identity, not that she particularly cares. Artoria is straightforward like that. I mean, obviously, some people are going to try shit with her, but they are going to sorely regret it. Not even Artoria is aware of how much they will, since she's only _beginning_ to grasp the pure, undiluted bullshit that is her existence now.**

* * *

Return: 1.3

Spending time with Danny Hebert for the first time in roughly three decades was an interesting experience.

In a lot of ways, he was just as she was starting to better remember he had always been. In others, he was so very different.

Maybe, it was the fact that she looked at him now through mature eyes and with the experience of many years of managing a kingdom's subjects, but it was also fairly obvious that he wasn't completely sure how to feel about her or this situation. He was having trouble speaking to her the same way he had before the... Locker Event. He had even said as much.

She could understand that. His child had essentially become an almost completely different person. He was confused and off-balance; his world had been tipped on its head. In that case, she had told him to simply speak his mind with her, rather than attempt to spare her feelings. She would prefer forthrightness and integrity before all else. After all, aside from the concealment of her gender, that was how she had ruled her kingdom and expected to be dealt with in turn.

* * *

 _"You keep getting this detached look on your face whenever you talk about that place, and then you look like you want to shut me out again."_

 _"It's... a habit I cultivated by necessity. The King had to remain impartial and just, no matter who was been judged. I'm only now attempting to properly tame it."_

 _"I may not know a lot about psychology, nor personally be a paragon of mental health, myself, but even I know that's unhealthy and self-destructive."_

 _"_ Believe me _, Father, I, for one, know that better than most. It was in many ways the reason for Camelot's fall."_

* * *

She had told him about Camelot, about being reborn as a female analog of King Arthur, about hiding her gender in order to be a king people would accept, and... about rejecting who she used to be, throwing away her old life and attachments.

That was a visibly hard pill for her father to swallow, that his daughter despised her first life enough to actually repress her memories when given a single chance to be someone else. When he'd asked if he'd been that bad a father, they'd almost had another tearful embracing session, while she firmly dissuaded him of the notion.

After that incident, her father had gotten thoughtful and compared her situation to what many capes likely did in everyday life. Getting powers by way of what he described to her as "Trigger events", was not at all pleasant, and getting them in the first place probably meant your civilian life was shit. Cape life was an escape for just about everyone with powers. Unfortunately, because of the way powers were gained, it was inevitable from the start that heroes would be outnumbered. Most people put in a situation bad enough to "Trigger" were not generally inclined to take the high road. This was an unfortunate truth of human nature, they agreed.

Her "Trigger" was an unusual one, even among the known examples. Her father told her that the only other cape he could recall, who had permanent mutations but still had memories, was a noncombatant, named Canary, who stayed out of the cape scene to put her powers to use doing something she loved, making music, a fact Artoria approved of greatly. Though Taylor concluded that what she had experienced was most likely not a Trigger event at all, Danny insisted that no-one would likely believe her and might even attempt to have her committed if she was too insistent. As far as anyone would be concerned, she would just be another Case-53, except without the memory-loss or infamous tattoo.

That had led to her demonstrating her magic and ability to summon and store her combat gear. She told him that it was possible for her to learn more magic on her own, but she had almost zero aptitude for the art with her ridiculous reserves and was often made to brute-force her way to success with spells through sheer power.

To say the least, he had still been skeptical, but he hadn't refuted her claim as impossible. After all, no-one really knew where powers came from or how they worked. Who was he to say she was wrong. Perhaps all powers were magic. Perhaps other people had lived other lives during their Triggers, only to forget those lives upon returning. Maybe Case-53s were just people, who had forgotten too much.

It was an interesting theory, but Artoria didn't put any stock in it personally. She wouldn't say it was impossible, but the _sheer magical energy_ required to set up a system to operate that kind of power-granting on such a massive scale was... _mind-boggling_ to say the _least_. Even someone like her, who could only _generously_ be called a third-rate magus, could see that. A spell like that would be on the level of True Magic.

They had left the Dockworkers Association soon after that, electing to claim to anyone who asked that Danny was simply giving her a ride home, rather than let her make another trip alone through questionable parts of town late in the day. It was even technically true.

* * *

As she stepped out of Danny's beaten, old pickup truck, Taylor took her first look in decades at the house that had been hers for the first fifteen years of her life.

By this era's standards, it was rather unimpressive with chipped paint, a broken step, pipes that rattled and rusted, and a furnace that no longer functioned. It was a house old enough that it had been owned by her grandparents during Brockton's Bad Old Days, and though it may have been far out of date for this time, it would have been a modern marvel in her prior one.

Give it an extra floor or two, a new coat of paint, and repair the steps, and -thanks to the marvels of running, heatable, water, a gas stove, and electricity- it would have been a residence fit for a medieval lord. As far as she was concerned, it was the best place she'd ever had the pleasure of laying her head. Not even the comforts provided to a king afforded the same ease of living as a modern abode.

Of course, the whole lack of servants was a thing, but it couldn't be _so_ hard to relearn how to cook the food of the modern era... Right?

...

 _Right?_

Shaking off those thoughts and her fears for the kitchen's wellbeing under her not-so-tender mercies, Taylor approached her house, reflexively skipping the broken step, while Danny locked the truck. As she got to the front door, she habitually reached for her currently nonexistent pocket-

-and abruptly stopped.

Now that she thought about it, what _had_ happened to her effects from this world. Wasn't... she shoved into her locker while wearing her backpack? She couldn't quite recall if so. It _was_ a really long time ago. It seemed like something of a stretch that they had managed to fit her in there with that much extra mass in the way. Rather, even were that the case, she should have had her home keys in her pocket. She hadn't seen her previous clothes laying in the waste that had spilled from her locker, so where were they?

She blinked and mentally berated herself. That... would have been the perfect thing to convince her father of her identity with. As Danny walked up beside her and withdrew his keychain with a rattle, she turned to him and put a halting hand up.

He gave her a questioning look. "What is it?"

The flat expression that Artoria answered him with looked a little dead inside. "Father, only now has it occurred to me to check my inner... stuff-space for the effects I had on me, when I was shoved into that vile locker. In this way, I suspect I might have prevented much unnecessary... drama, as it were, had I made use of it during our reunion."

She held out her right hand, mentally tapped the space inside her, and pulsed her magic. In a flare of blue light, a small key, belonging to the door before her, instantly flashed into existence in her palm. With pursed lips, she inserted the key into the door lock, turned it, and removed the key. She turned the handle, and the door opened easily.

Artoria sighed aloud in frustration with an eye twitch and resisted the brief urge to bash her head against a wall... mostly since she suspected her head would now emerge overwhelmingly victorious from such an exchange, sending the key back to whence it came. Danny led the way inside with a small chuckle.

"Alzheimer's is hitting you pretty hard in your old age, eh?" he asked playfully, as she closed and locked the door behind them.

Taylor refused to dignify his question with a verbal response and simply elected to send her father an aloof glare that was, thankfully, without any real heat behind it. Whether on purpose or not, he didn't seem to notice her open reproach, as he set his work bag against the wall and slipped off his shoes, causing the former king to huff silently and pad along behind him into the kitchen on sock-clad feet -after storing her own boots in her stuff-space, of course.

As they entered, Danny made his way over to the fridge and withdrew a frozen dinner from the freezer, causing the girl to freeze in place. At the very thought of food, a low rumble echoed through the room, leaving only dead silence in its wake. Artoria's cheeks pinked a bit, as Danny gave her a long look. After moment, he chuckled. "Well, all things considered, that seems to be the appropriate response. All this stress has left me hungry too. How do you feel about lasagna, Taylor?"

Cheeks still flushed with embarrassment, she could only nod.

One quick tutorial/mental refresher on how to use an oven later, along with the heating of said oven, and the frozen lasagna had been inserted and the timer set. It would be a little less than an hour before it was done, so Danny thought to put together some quick appetizers.

It seemed salad was the name of the game today, as the pair took a large serving bowl and poured in some lettuce and seasoned croutons, before mixing them together thoroughly. Unfortunately, despite her enthusiasm -or, more likely, because of it, Taylor ended up relegated to opening a can of olives and another of small tomatoes, while her father grated a carrot, since her monstrous strength had caused her to accidently pulp the first vegetable she took hold of, yet not the grater, itself, out of pure luck. There was a bit of a silver lining though; now, she knew where the paper towels were and was once more adept at using them to clean up messes. The trashcan fed well that day.

The father-daughter duo eventually sat down to eat with Danny currently more than a little amused at the glint in Taylor's now matching pair of green eyes, as he served the pair equal portions into a duo of smaller bowls. That expression of his became one of shock, when he finished portioning the appetizer and blinked, only to apparently miss his daughter veritably inhaling her half of the salad in a blast of movement that actually elicited a small breeze and ruffled his hair. By the time he had picked up his eating utensils, she was wiping crumbs off her lip with a small paper napkin and looking at the timer on the oven with a positively _feral_ glint in her gaze. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't even halfway done.

"Wow."

She blinked at him.

"I've seen my fair share of growth spurts, but if you actually start aging again, yours is going to be a doozy."

Taylor pinked slightly, before straightening up her posture. " _Well_ , you never know where your last good meal will come from on the battlefield. War and magic require energy, after all. Hunger is the enemy of every warrior."

Danny raised a brow at that, as he finally tucked in to his salad. A few ponderously chewed mouthfuls later, he hummed in thought. "Well, you could have at least taken the time to _enjoy_ your food. It would have probably made the wait for the main course more bearable, and you would be able to eat more once it arrived... and hopefully enjoyed that too, of course." He chuckled and then got a cheeky look on his face. "And now, you're stuck, still hungry, and having to watch _me_ eat."

Taylor spluttered, resisting the urge to pout, as she shot him the evil-eye. She huffed. "Mayhap that is well the case. However, it is sometimes best on the battlefield to be incapable of tasting what you are putting in your mouth, no matter how nutritious..." She shuddered and gained a far-away look. "Or necessary. So much salted meat... so much gruel... _Verily_ , the bread would have done mine teeth in long ago without Avalon."

Choosing not to further peel open _that_ particular can of worms in response his daughter's vaguely food traumatized gaze, Danny asked, "Avalon, like the legendary holy isle?" At her look, he snorted. "You weren't the only one who benefitted from Annette's profession."

She nodded and paused a moment, before sighing. "Something to the effect. Avalon was a scabbard, gifted to me by Merlin to sheath Excalibur. It was also magical and provided me with potent healing and a last-resort ultimate defense. In large part, my death can be put to blame on my carelessness in allowing it to be stolen, leaving me in a position, where I could finally be slain. In many ways, Avalon was a greater treasure than Excalibur could ever have been. _In fact_ , at one point, Merlin inquired of me which I valued more. Immediately, I answered him that it was the blade, and he rebuked me quite heavily. At the time, I wrote off his assertion, but it seems he was proven right in the end..."

"Ah..." Danny trailed off into awkward silence.

Artoria shrugged. "I am beyond it by now. There is no point in trying to change the past; I can only look to the future and hope for the best. Avalon is lost to me, and I have made my peace with it and learned a valuable lesson in the bargain. There is a time, when every living being is reminded of their mortality. The day that, despite my skill in battle, Mordred drew up from the edge of death in a fit of sheer grit and spite to leave one final, fatal wound on me... was mine." She blinked. "Ah, but my apologies, father. Even among the blooded company of the Round Table, that is a dour tale fit only to sour appetites."

Danny shook his head and immediately took another bite of his salad as though to assure her that wasn't the case. He swallowed pointedly. "It's alright. I've dealt with more than a little unsavory business in my lifetime. This _is_ Brockton Bay, after all; we've got one of the highest numbers of capes per capita in the world, and I've been around since the Bad Old Days."

Taylor blinked. "The Bad Old Days?"

"Yeah," Danny answered with a grin. "We still had the Empire putting down roots back then, but we also had the Teeth and the Marche to keep them in check, instead of the Merchants or the ABB. You know the Teeth?" Taylor shook her head. "I would be surprised if you had. They were some pretty nasty characters, killing almost indiscriminately and at will. They even used the bones of their kills as trophies sometimes. And the reason they couldn't be definitively ousted was because of their leader, the Butcher. Anyone who killed the Butcher got the voices of all the previous Butchers stuffed into their head to drive them insane and turn them into just another lunatic killer in the cycle. What's more, the Butcher keeps every power one of their lives has ever had, even if notably weaker. It's a nasty, effective combination of powers they have. In fact, despite being driven off all the way to Boston, the Butcher is still around to this day."

Artoria scowled. Barbarians, every last one of them. Not a one of them deserved more or less than a swift and keen blade to the jugular. "What a terrible and potent power. What finally drove them out?"

Danny frowned. "The Slaughterhouse Nine came to town and pretty much wiped out the entire gang, aside from the Butcher."

Even now, Taylor well remembered the household name with dread and righteous anger. The Slaughterhouse were a powerful band of wandering, murderous capes, who struck terror into the hearts of the populace, killing for fun and just because they _could_. "The power vacuum certainly didn't stay empty for long. Is that what also became of the Marche?"

Danny caught the expression on her face and nodded. "You're right about the power vacuum, but nope." Danny actually grinned. "The Marche played one of the biggest roles in driving them away."

Taylor sat up straighter. It sounded like she was about to hear something interesting.

"To be honest, if I had to absolutely choose any one gang to remain a permanent fixture of Brockton Bay in exchange for the removal of the others, I'd have picked the Marche hands-down every time. The Marche only had _one_ cape, but the one they _did_ have was _very_ good at what he did, _too good_ even. He was called the Marquis, and the only reason he was ever brought in at all was that our local independent hero team, New Wave, who were going by the Brockton Brigade back then, tracked him to his civilian home and ambushed him in the night. He went straight to the Birdcage afterwards. In any kind of straight fight, he was a one man army, and he took on all comers and came out victorious. He even -get this- had an actual _code_ of all things, a code he made his gang follow to the _letter_. No matter _what_ else they might have done or how many good men suffered, women and children were _never_ to be harmed under _any_ circumstances. Plenty of people tried to take advantage of that by sending women at him in a variety of ways; we even had a mostly female Protectorate back then, thanks to him. Despite that, he always came out victorious and without really harming the women either, no matter their intentions. However, he _did_ think rather little of killing heroes and did just that _many_ times. The Slaughterhouse Nine actually tried to recruit him during their visit or, at least, force him to break his code. Not only did he _refuse_ , but he took them all on alone and came out relatively even. It was actually close enough that those crazy murder-hobos fled. And, mind you, the Slaughterhouse had already picked up the Siberian by that point, so it was pretty big deal."

Artoria nodded. Despite his obviously criminal inclinations, the Marquis sounded like worthy opponent and was obviously a man of his word. Depending on what exactly his crimes were, she might could even see him as a respectable noble lord in her former time. After all, the Dark Ages had rather more simple and brutal standards.

"In any case," Danny sighed. "While the Dockworkers Association was more at threat than most from him and his protection rackets, considering our almost entirely male workforce, he, at least, wasn't a Nazi-wannabe -German _or_ Asian-themed alike- or running a gang of crazed drug fiends. There was even this one bar he established..." Danny paused in thought, before snapping his fingers. " _Somer's Rock_ , that's what it was called. The Marquis, at some point, took Brockton's villain population and introduced almost a sense of civility with a neutral ground for negotiations to take place at. Considering which gangs resided in the city at the time, the fact that he managed to make it actually _work_ is nothing short of amazing. It's a little legacy of his that is still standing and used by the current generation of gangs to this day."

Artoria blinked and shook her head. This warrior sounded more amazing by the moment. With power, principles, and charisma like his, he could have surely been an amazing hero. It truly was too bad. She would have liked to have met him at least once, even if it was at the ends of clashing blades. Unfortunately or not, the infamously inescapable Birdcage made that a pipe dream. She shrugged inwardly. Regardless, it couldn't be helped. Despite his standards and honor, he _had_ been a villain with a body-count massive enough to get him sent to the ultimate prison for it alone. Of course, considering her _own_ body-count... Could she _really_ judge others for killing for a supposedly just cause? Could she afford to _be_ judged? _No_ , she wouldn't allow others to judge her for slaying evildoers in the name of protecting the victimized. Similarly, unless they targeted the innocent, she would not judge others for such.

Her expression darkened by a small degree. Well, she didn't know what Marquis's motives had been. No system was perfect, no matter how it appeared, and now... She sighed. Damn it all, now she was curious. Luckily, information was something shared freely nowadays on the marvel that was the internet. She would have to look him up at some point... and, while she was at it, also refresh her knowledge on the _current_ capes, who made Brockton Bay their home, especially the "villains".

"Point is-" She was jolted from her thoughts by her father's voice. "I've been around the block, " _seen some serious shit_ " as it were. Make no mistake, they were called the Bad Old Days for _reason_. The Protectorate and PRT hadn't been well established yet, the Birdcage was more of a rumor than anything else, which wasn't being taken seriously, and villains back then were pretty confident in getting away with whatever they wanted to. A _lot_ of good people died, and Marquis was one of the most prolific murderers out there, pretty much casually killing any person, who even mildly displeased him, it seemed. However, despite all of that, he was the ultimately lesser evil, and that drew people to him, regardless of the risk to their own lives. A lot can change in twenty years; _thankfully_ , the standards for what a villain can get away with are one of those things. Doesn't change the fact that there _are_ still villains, but _something_ is better than _nothing_." He speared the last of his lettuce atop a crouton and imbibed it, swallowing a few moments later. He settled his fork back in his bowl with a small clatter and grinned. " _So_ , don't you worry about taking away your old man's appetite with a story as mild as that." He gave a small wink, and Taylor smiled in response.

* * *

They spent the rest of the wait for the lasagna engaging in small talk and just generally trying to regain a better feel for each-other. All too quickly(too slow for Artoria's tastes), the old oven finished its labor, and the lasagna was removed, divvied up, and disposed of much the same way as the salad had been -in that Artoria consumed her portion only slightly slower than she had before.

However, when she _had_ done so and allowed herself to taste her meal in full... Her toes actually curled in pleasure a bit at the mere memory of it. Stacked layers of thick pasta, soaked in tomato sauce, packed between layers with ground meat, and inelegantly slathered with a layer of melted cheese atop it all. There might very well have been tiny tears of joy in that memory. Despite her best attempts to remain impassive, she had quietly moaned a little in sheer bliss at the experience her taste buds were having -to Danny's unending amusement ("Was food back then really that bad?") and Taylor's flat chagrin ("Yes."). Truly, her former era's food had _nothing_ on this one's; only now could she truly appreciate why she had always found her own royal chef's food to be distasteful, no matter how finely prepared. Of course, she had politely refrained from making that opinion known, considering his cooking was still leagues above battlefield rations, but it was still unpleasant to some corner of her mind, which kept trying to compare her meals to others she refused to remember. It was finally apparent now why that was.

After the lasagna was vanquished in its entirety, Taylor found herself relearning to wash dishes the modern way and then taking a bath in hot water for the first time in decades.

It was _glorious_.

The bottled body soap and hair shampoo certainly only made things even better! Intimately aware of the potential water bill, however, she was forced to make sure to seal the drain and simply let the tub fill. After that, she had enjoyed a languid soak that nearly lulled her to sleep with its tranquility and encompassing warmth in concert with the comforting, wafting smell of scented soap. Aches she hadn't known she'd had melted away, and her scalp hadn't felt as clean in literal decades. If this was what it was like to cleanse oneself in this time, she solemnly swore to herself that she would never skimp on washing away the days' grime before bed. _Truly_ , she hoped the novelty of these baths lasted for a good, long while.

On a side note, Artoria discovered she _could_ , in fact, remove her clothes completely to store them inside her stuff-space. Also, doing that removed all the filth they had gathered, so they were in prime condition upon being retrieved again. Convenient as all hell, but she would have to make sure she always had a general replacement in mind, when changing outfits in public -just in case. Otherwise, things were liable to get _awkward_.

Seeing her room again was honestly... a little depressing with how drab and almost generic it was. Plain bed sheets greeted her along with posters of various heroes, Alexandria and Armsmaster seemingly chief among them with the biggest wall displays, complete with names under said pictures confirming that those _were_ , in fact, who she vaguely remembered them to be. There were also a pair of action figures beside a digital alarm-clock on a bedside table. Aside from that, there wasn't much else going on in her room. It all felt rather impersonal and... concealed, as though the resident had felt the need to keep as much of their valued possessions out of immediate sight as possible. She frowned; that would change as soon as was convenient. No knight -or person, for that matter- should have any reason to be ashamed of their legitimate and good accomplishments and possessions, and she would be damned if even a former king, like herself, were to languish in such a depressing atmosphere.

Going through her old, dull clothes in all the shades of black, grey and faded blue was something of an irritating journey through the land of teenage angst. She sure had been a dark, little brooder, hadn't she, before her reincarnation into another time of magic and dragons had gotten her to shut up -and literally nut-up at one point ("Damn you, Merlin!")? More and more, she was starting to realize her old self had been something of a, well, naive and hopeless fangirl. The persisting Armsmaster underwear, for one thing, were going to die in a fire the moment she had something to replace them. She did take a bit of vindictive pleasure out of realizing she would need new bras, probably in upwards of two sizes ("Suck it, Emma! I can be hot too!). _Ah, whoops there, Taylor, stop worrying about the crazy ginger. You have nothing to prove to that impudent wench._

Or did she?

Artoria was forced to pause in thought, momentarily putting aside the issue of the disturbing teenage girl underwear and their indications. There was pretty much no way she was going to realistically be able to conceal her "powers" from anyone, thanks to her physical and mental changes... but mostly just from the busted school locker and footprints in the tile. Anyone, who had been witness her getting shoved in there, was going to know who was responsible for the damage, especially considering the locker door was obviously bent from the inside.

Looking back on it, if she had wanted to live a quiet life, it probably hadn't been the wisest for her to go roof-hopping in broad daylight without a mask... Meh.

She huffed. Well, why should she bother to hide her face? Why should she attempt to hide her powers? Those insignificant children that proudly called themselves her tormenters had gone after her because they perceived her as an easy target, but now she was a _threat_. Instead of feeding their delusions of still having power over her, she would just have to flaunt her power openly in the faces of everyone. She would just have to... what was it called... "take refuge in audacity?"

That sounded about right. And, really, with her physical changes, it was the only option she had, aside from trying to withdraw from Winslow and homeschool herself. Even if she did that, her "powers" would still be an open thing. Better to simply take this challenge, like she had all others, and charge it head-on.

She would have to reuse that part of her that was the King of Britain and use it to her advantage conquer this unorthodox battleground. Winslow couldn't cover this up any more if they tried to make issue with her. If all else failed, she could make it a PRT matter. The PRT _were_ a police force after all, no matter how overblown, and, surely, they wouldn't do _nothing_ if corruption like this was brought to their attention, especially the kind that saw people thrown into what was almost certainly toxic waste. Since she was a "parahuman", any matter involving her would be relegated to them anyway.

Unfortunately, reconsidering it, she realized the garbage in her locker would probably be cleaned up by tomorrow to cover-up the incident, so it would be unable to be used as evidence of the faculty's negligence. If they were audacious enough, the school might even try to go after _her_ for her accidental destruction of school property. She considered it unlikely though; if they were as corrupt as she suspected, Winslow probably wouldn't want to draw outside attention to the matter. They might even have a replacement door on her locker and the whole thing practically airbrushed clean by tomorrow.

Taylor shook her head in distaste.

It seemed that she would be unable to make use of this incident to bring justice to Winslow. However, if the bullies felt they had gotten away with the entire criminal venture, they might believe they could get away unscathed from escalating even further still. If they attempted to do so, however, she would be ready for them.

Despite her inclinations to leave it behind her, she was still a King in habit -and a full-grown woman in mind, and she would _not_ allow the petty torments of mere _children_ to interfere with her getting a good schooling, graduating, getting a good job, and living a decent life with her father.

And on that note...

Before hitting the hay, she'd dug into the depths of her stuff-space once more. As was apparently her rather unusually good luck, not only did her stuff-space contain the clothes she had been wearing before being stuffed in The Locker, but it also had her school bag and everything she'd had in it. The most important things to her there in this case were her intact school books. It would have been inconvenient and a further strain on her family's delicate financial situation to have to purchase replacements. Also welcome were her school notebooks and homework.

It was a bit of work going through those things and the many scholastic concepts she had left long unused. In particular, she grimaced at the thought of her next computer programming class. So many things in the Dark Ages had been scholastically behind what she was supposed to be currently working on at Winslow. Sure, while she may have been plenty up-to-date knowledge-wise in _her_ era, it was going to be a struggle refreshing her scholastic ability in this one.

Lastly, there was her... hero notebook. The ratty, abused, and seemingly juice stained thing had more than a few costume ideas and powers her old self had dreamed of gaining; the "Alexandria Package" was waxed about almost poetically multiple times. It was a discouraging realization to suddenly be aware of her own new powers and acknowledge her new disinclination to use them to be the hero she'd always wanted to be...

She scowled. Someone like her would never be considered a hero by this time's standards. Someone like her would never suffer the status-quo to stand, were they to become involved. It was a delicate and dangerous game the heroes played, she realized, because if the villains decided they no longer wanted to play by the rules, the heroes would _lose_. However, despite knowing what she could incur, if villains interfered with her life... A grimace took up her face. She knew she wouldn't be playing by their rules if that happened.

The hero notebook was placed by her clock, and the room light was flipped off. After a minute or so, her golden locks of hair had been freed from their bun and braid, and she placed the blue ribbon atop the notebook, slipping into bed beneath the covers, the soft, non-feather based pillow feeling cool and comforting against the back of her head. However, alone with her thoughts, she sighed and frowned minutely, as she stared up at the ceiling.

She _couldn't_ allow herself to become involved. It was for the good of the _city_. It was for the good of her _father_. It was for the good of the innocent citizens, who would be caught in the crossfire.

No matter what, the King of Knights and former monarch of Britain swore she would have a successful, normal life!

Perhaps she should have checked first for just _what exactly_ constituted as "normal" for anyone by the name of Artoria Pendragon...

...Because, if nothing else, she would certainly get _that_.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **I am honestly not sure what arc I will finally reveal what weapon(s?) I've decided on. She _will_ get Rhongomyniad at some point, and I think I've already decided when she'll be forced to reveal it (probably not for an Endbringer btw). I don't know if Taylor will be getting into any cape fights next arc, but I've pretty much already decided how her first encounter with the gangs will go. And she won't have figured out she has weapons by that point either (or just won't be using one in that bit in order to hold back or something). I'm mostly writing this story in a "go with the flow" way. It'll get here when it gets here.**

 **The Return Arc is the boring one, the one where we get Artoria's reintroduction to Danny out of the way and get her settled at home. The next arc will go full-tilt into the world of Worm from the start, probably starting with Winslow, and then... well, I'll not spoil that yet.**

 **Next chapter is the Interlude and the end of the arc, which will set up some more of the plot.**

 **In case anyone is wondering why Artoria is fascinated by and even slightly respects Marquis, it's certainly not for his way of ruling. He WAS a tyrant and killed a lot of people -almost at a whim sometimes; that can't be denied. He even freely admits to not being a good person. However, he did have honor, did have a code. The only time he is noted to have supposedly broken it was killing Allfather's daughter, Iron Rain; though, its actually debated whether he was telling the truth when he claimed credit for her demise. However, despite this, he actually is pretty mild by Medieval standards as far as morality goes. Some serious shit went down back then, and invaders were _not_ kind in the least to the civilians that got between them and the defending army. Pillaging, rape, and wanton slaughter for fun were common, and Artoria had to deal with those atrocities often with the Saxons. By comparison, the Marquis -while merciless and generally uncaring- is a freaking saint! In comparison to the other gangs that have made their home in Brockton, his is literally the only one that could have ever been called respectable to a degree. Artoria doesn't admire him, but she can respect him, and she's interested in what kind of person he was. Regardless, she would still give her all to bring him down were he still around, but she could respect what decent attributes he _does_ have while doing it. Still, unless some seriously crazy shit goes down, we'll not be seeing the Marquis in this story till Golden Morning.**

 **As always, I welcome and invite constructive criticism that will help me improve my writing! Nitpicking without an offered solution is also discouraged. Again, try not to take every single bit of this story too seriously. I am writing for fun! :)**


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